


Actus Reus & Mens Rea

by spyblue31



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Office, Emotional Infidelity, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Infidelity, London, M/M, Miscarriage, Office Sex, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 91,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26440750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyblue31/pseuds/spyblue31
Summary: A Particulars of Claim is a legal document which sets out the case of the claimant and specifies the facts being relied upon. When drafting a Defence to the Particular of Claims, the defendant has three options: admit, deny or require more information to prove.The facts are these:1. Jeno Lee is married.2. Jeno Lee is an adulterer.3. Jeno Lee is in love with Donghyuck Lee.Jeno Lee would admit the first, deny the second, and require more information to prove the third.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Jeno
Comments: 191
Kudos: 319
Collections: NOHYUCK FEST: 정답!





	1. Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Is something a work of labour if it is born out of love? If it is, this is it.
> 
> A standing ovation to Admin Chocoball for running Nohyuck ficfest. It couldn't have been easy but you've done such an incredible job, thank you so much for your tireless efforts. I apologise for asking for so many extensions and submitting so late. Thank you so much for still letting me post this work. You're truly the MVP of the Nohyuck Nation. We are all so grateful to you.
> 
> This is written for Nohyuck prompt #JD075. To my darling prompter, I hope you will enjoy. I apologise again for the delay, but I hope delayed gratification does exist just this once.
> 
> This fic is based in London, UK, so the characters will be speaking in British English, as such some words/phrases will be have different meanings from their American English counterpart. It goes without saying that the spelling and grammar will also be British.
> 
> Please pay heed to the tags, they exist for a reason.
> 
> Thank you. I hope you will enjoy the fic.

**December**

As Jeno descends down the steps of the striking grand staircase of the Shangri-La, his wife’s dainty hand tucked into the crook of his arm, he thinks that the firm has once again outdone themselves in location.

The Shangri-La’s Ren Ballroom is bright and spacious thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows that flood the area with natural sunlight. On a rare sunny winter day, there’s an astoundingly clear view of the London Eye, Big Ben, and at a distance, the Houses of Parliament.

A suited footman offers him a flute of champagne. Jeno accepts with a murmured thanks, continuing to make his way into the ballroom, and scans the room for familiar faces. He lets go of his wife’s hand to straighten his suit with his free hand when he sees _him_.

“Ah! The man of the hour has arrived!”

“Donghyuck,” Jeno smiles, gesturing to the lady beside him. “This is my wife, Yeeun.” Touching Donghyuck’s arm, he introduces, “Yeeun, this is Donghyuck Lee, an Associate in the Litigation Department. We are currently working on a project together.”

Donghyuck bows shortly over Yeeun and takes her left hand, pressing a kiss over the back of her hand, and the afternoon sun winks over her diamond ring. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. As Jeno’s self-professed work husband, I’ve always wanted to meet Jeno’s in real life spouse. I’ve heard so much about his lovely wife that I feel we already know each other.”

Yeeun, flustered by Donghyuck’s unorthodox greeting and enthusiasm, stammers, “Oh, it’s very nice to meet you too. Jeno has said that you’re a great lawyer and you’ve an incredible mind.”

“Has he?” Donghyuck lifts an eyebrow at him, smiling knowingly. “Well, I must say—and I’m sure my Supervisor will concur—that Jeno is a welcome addition to my department anytime, though the possessive bastards at M&A will disagree heavily.”

Yeeun gasps at Donghyuck’s vulgarity. She glances at Jeno fleetingly before smiling hesitantly at Donghyuck, looking at loss for words.

Jeno takes pity on her, “I hope you will be careful with your suit.” He gives Donghyuck’s pristine white suit an appraising look, “We wouldn’t want any accidents to occur.”

Donghyuck laughs, saluting him with his champagne flute, “If there are any accidents, they are born out of pleasure, and I certainly won’t be regretting them,” He smiles charmingly, before turning to Yeeun. “But I shall take great care around you, love. You look stunning in that dress; I’m certain that you shan’t be very happy with me if I spill my drink on that pink satin.”

Yeeun smiles helplessly. She is probably unused to men complimenting her so unabashedly in front of her husband. “Your white suit is very dashing. You stand out amongst everyone here.”

“Ah, you are inflating my ego far too much,” Donghyuck winks at her and she flushes pink, taking a step closer to Jeno. Donghyuck notices, for one side of his mouth curls up, and he lowers his voice, “Fear not, my lovely Yeeun. I’m gay, fortunately for my supervisor’s peace of mind, and unfortunately for my supervisor’s wife. Fear not that your beauty has driven a wedge between Jeno and I.”

Yeeun laughs, taken aback and overwhelmed by his audacity.

Jeno tuts, “Donghyuck, you’re too much.”

“Au contraire, Jeno.” His eyes gleam with mischief. “I am just enough.”

“Fuck,” Jeno crushes his mouth to Donghyuck, his hands roaming all over his body greedily, the door to the single stall private toilet closing behind them—thank God for five-star hotels. “You look so hot in that suit.”

Donghyuck laughs, the sound low from his throat as he pushes Jeno against the window, “Yeah? Maybe you should look in the mirror. God, I was ready to get on my knees when I saw you.”

“You still can,” Jeno closes his eyes, groaning, when Donghyuck does as he says. “Fuck.”

“Look at me when I blow you,” Donghyuck unbuckles Jeno’s belt slowly, taking his time to drive Jeno insane. Donghyuck peers up at him from below, the glimmer of his round brown eyes spell nothing but trouble.

“Oh God, yes,” Jeno pants as Donghyuck pushes down his trousers, pressing his lips to the bulge in his briefs. “God, I’ve been thinking of you for days.”

“I know I’m great, but I’m still Donghyuck.” He says, cheeky as ever, before he pulls Jeno’s cock out and gives it a kittenish lick at the tip where Jeno is most sensitive.

“I know no God but you when I’m with you,” Jeno pants. “Oh please, don’t tease. I want you and we don’t have much time.” Jeno is not above begging when it comes to Donghyuck.

“Oh, Lee Jeno—you certainly know how to flatter a corporate lawyer; liken him to God and he’ll certainly do what you want.”

He feels Donghyuck’s evil laugh as he engulfs Jeno’s cock, which causes him to slam an arm on the glass of the 35th floor window in search for stability to anchor him against the maddening heat of Donghyuck’s mouth.

Donghyuck takes his cock deeper. With his right hand, he lightly fondles Jeno’s balls with a teasing pressure. With his left, he uses his index finger to smooth over the patch of skin between Jeno’s balls and rim.

Jeno almost concusses himself with how hard he knocks his head against the windowpane at the triple onslaught of pressure, his hips jerking unconsciously into Donghyuck’s mouth. “God, Hyuck, _please_.”

Donghyuck’s lips pop off from his cock. Even though he’s on his knees, Jeno is the one at his mercy as Donghyuck orders with a raspy voice, “Stay still, pet, or I won’t let you come, and you’ll have to walk with that hard-on all night.”

Jeno has to rip his eyes away from the sinful sight of Donghyuck’s full, rosy lips around his cock lest he comes immediately. He averts his eyes to the window, past the the murky watered River Thames, the imposing domed St. Paul’s Cathedral to his right, and gets a clear view of all the tourists walking on London below.

Donghyuck _hums_ , the vibration sending chills up Jeno’s spine. It takes him all his willpower not to buck up—to be _good_ and obey Donghyuck’s commands. The pleasure is too great, Jeno desperately tries to focus on something else. Across the Thames, he sees the Walkie Talkie with the Sky Gardens at the top, a place which is in direct sight of The Shard. All the people who are looking through binoculars right now could see Jeno getting the best blowjob of his life.

“Hyuck, please, get off, I’m com—”

Donghyuck even more determinedly sinks down on his cock, and Jeno can’t hold on any longer. The rope snaps and he comes with Hyuck’s name on his lips, his right hand carded in Donghyuck’s hair and his left hand braced against the window.

“I love you.” He gasps out as the pleasure takes over, his head lulling to the side as Donghyuck suckles on his cock to tide him through the orgasm, until he’s squirming in over-sensitivity.

When he calms down somewhat, Jeno feels a slight pain in his left hand from where he banged it against the window. He opens his eyes to see his gold wedding band glimmering faintly beneath the setting sun.

As his eyes adjust back to the light, the orangey hues from the sunset flood into the room, until he almost can’t distinguish ring from skin, and all he can see is Donghyuck.

**April**

Every successful man has a routine.

In Jeno’s humble opinion, his routine is the source of his success.

A successful two-week vacation scheme at SM LLP—one of the Magic Triangle law firms—during his second year at Oxford University enabled him to secure a training contract at the firm. At twenty-two, he started his legal career as a trainee solicitor at the firm. At twenty-four, he qualified as a solicitor in England & Wales. At thirty, he is the youngest Senior Associate in the Corporate, M&A and Securities department at SM LLP.

Did he also mention that he’s been married for five years?

He’s thankful that he found his wife early and had the forethought of marriage. If he hadn’t then he would have remained a bachelor for life considering his work-life balance and the policy on workplace relationships.

Jeno owes his success to his routine, which he has kept since he was twenty-two. He wakes up at six and quietly leaves the bed without waking his wife. At six thirty, he commutes to the office by tube. He’ll arrive by seven to exercise for an hour at the gym. At eight, he’ll page through the Financial Times while he has breakfast. From eight thirty, he’ll work until Jaemin—his best friend who works in Tax—makes him get lunch at the canteen. After dinner at half-six, he’ll return to his desk for more work. On an average day, he’ll get home at nine. On a bad day—well, inhouse sleeping pods, Deliveroo allowances, showers and office dry cleaners exist for a reason.

Rinse and repeat.

Jeno is aware that he works long hours but such is the life of a corporate lawyer at an international law firm. Besides, he is remunerated well for his efforts. At twenty-two as a trainee solicitor, he started at £50,000, already a higher rate taxpayer. At twenty-four as a newly qualified solicitor, he was on £150,000, an additional rate taxpayer, the highest band possible. At thirty, he takes home £350,000 a year plus bonus.

Jeno’s job is the reason why they—as young newlyweds—were able to climb onto the perilous London property ladder instead of renting like everyone else. They live in a three-bedroom house in Hampstead, a charming quiet area with lots of green spaces that retained its traditional charm despite being in London, with neighbours such as Harry Styles, James Corden and Jamie Oliver.

This isn’t to say that Yeeun doesn’t pull her weight. As their wedding gift, her parents contributed a third of the deposit so they could get a mortgage. In addition, CLC—the online Korean beauty marketplace company she runs—is becoming popular, so her income has increased. Still, the majority of her contributions are directed towards the household while Jeno takes care of the mortgage.

This morning is no different from any other. Jeno has already exercised, had his breakfast and has just sent an email to update his client about his case when his supervisor Doyoung calls him into his office.

Jeno has known Doyoung since he was a bumbling, awkward eighteen-year-old boy who first came to the firm on an Open Day for First Years. Via some weird stroke of fate, when he entered the firm, Doyoung was selected by HR to be his mentor and he is one of the main reasons why Jeno decided to specialise in M&A.

“I have a new case for you,” Doyoung says, pushing up his glasses and looking too weary for only half an hour proper into the workday on a Tuesday. “You know how we’re acting for Clinton plc on the acquisition of NHC ltd? And Clinton told us that it was going to be a fucking private treaty sale?” He nods, though he’s sure Doyoung isn’t listening, only staring blankly at the space which Jeno is occupying.

“Yeah, that fell through,” Doyoung makes what is supposed to be a laugh but sounds like a sob. “I rushed for 3 days straight to draft their acquisition agreement. I was in the office on _Sunday_ and I haven’t slept for 54 hours, but fucking NHC—” Doyoung grits his teeth so hard that he has to take a breath to calm down. “I don’t know if Clinton was withholding information from me that NHC was conducting an auction sale, or NHC really just solicited another company while they were in exclusive discussions with us. _Whatever_. Regardless, NHC wants to bloody sign with Johnson & Jones.”

“Okay,” Jeno says slowly, trying to connect to what Doyoung is getting at.

“Obviously, Clinton isn’t pleased,” Jeno hides a snort—Clinton’s director is the epitome of a selfish, egotistic ruthless CEO. “And they want to sue.” Doyoung rubs his temples, staring out the window to the formidable Tower of London like he’s tempted to join Anne Boleyn and Guy Fawkes in death. “Don’t fucking ask me how or why. I’ve tried telling him that it’s vexatious litigation, but he’s angry and he wants to sue and he’s still a paying client, so now we have to work with the litigation department.”

“Litigation?” Jeno raises an eyebrow. “He wants to sue NHC for what? Damages? Restitution? Performance of the contract? NHC’s unlikely to want to sell to Clinton after being sued.”

“Clinton’s CEO is a bully boy and doesn’t give a flying fuck. He wants to make an example of NHC so people know they can’t screw them over,” Doyoung massages his temples with his fingers. “Anyways, I called you here because you’re in charge of the new direction Clinton wants to take. I’ve sent an email to the Litigation Department so they’ll assign you someone to work with.”

“You’re not going to work on the case?”

“I’ve made my opinion clear, advised him that he’s sending money down the fucking drain, and _he_ told me he hoped a double decker would make a pancake out of me,” Doyoung smiles mirthlessly. “I cannot fucking deal with Clinton’s director and I’ll be made redundant for losing a FTSE 100 client so you’re in charge. If I have to see NHC’s director, I’ll grab him and throw the both of us off the Tower Bridge. Samaritans be damned.”

Jeno doesn’t even question it—he knows it’s true. “Got it. Will you be heading home or braving it?”

“Fuck no,” Doyoung pulls open his desk drawer, popping three paracetamols dry. “I haven’t taken a duvet day since my GCSE’s. I’ll pop off to the sleeping pods downstairs for a nap and I’ll be back after lunch. If you have any questions ask my secretary, I don’t want to be disturbed unless the building’s on fire.” He pauses, “Actually, don’t. If the building’s on fire, don’t disturb me. Leave me be.”

“Sometimes, I worry for you.”

“Don’t,” Doyoung says, standing up and removing his blazer. “Emotion has no place in M&A. Now, get out of my office and go find the poor Litigation sod who has to deal with Clinton.”

When Jeno returns to his desk, he sees that Doyoung has cced him in the email he sent to the Litigation Partner. Just shortly before lunch, as Jeno checks his inbox, he sees an email sent from Johnny Seo informing him that he’ll work with Associate Donghyuck Lee.

“Donghyuck Lee?” Jaemin drawls, his crisp, cut-glass English accent dripping with scorn. “They assigned you a greener than grass associate barely a year out of training nappies. Just splendid, love. Now you know exactly what Seo & co. think of your chances with Clinton.”

“Is he that inexperienced?” Jeno asks doubtfully. “Didn’t he once work in your department?”

Jaemin inspects the marbling on a cut of Agnus beef ribeye before he nods, indicating the chef to cook it. While the chef sears the steak, they amble over to gather their sides. Jeno picks up a generous heaping of steamed asparagus while Jaemin loads up on gratin dauphinois and roasted Brussel sprouts.

“Donghyuck is,” Jaemin purses his lips, glancing around them as if to speak was to summon the devil, “he’s more trouble than is worth. He’s unconventional, competitive and confrontational. The six months he worked as a paralegal under me was perhaps the most difficult time I’ve ever had.”

The little bell dings to indicate their food is ready and they head over to pay at the cashier.

“Rosie, darling,” Jaemin grins as he hands over his card to pay for them. “You are a sight for sore eyes this dreary morning. Did you get a haircut?”

The cashier, a middle-aged lady with an easy smile and kind eyes, just laughs at Jaemin’s scheduled flirting. “I did, thank you for noticing, Mr. Na. And that’s a handsome suit you have on.”

Jaemin smiles, smoothing down his hand over his spring appropriate pastel blue blazer. On anyone else, they would look like an Easter Egg, but it was made for Jaemin, the cut and colour accentuating his best attributes.

“Oh, Rosie, you flatter me so,” Jaemin winks at her and smiles wider when she tuts instead of giggling. “And I am nowhere near as handsome as your boys. It was nice seeing your children at the Easter dinner.”

Rosie smiles warmly, “Thank you, Jaemin. Now, you’d best eat that lunch before it gets cold.”

“Small sacrifice for a lovely lady,” Jaemin grins. “But I know when I’m unwanted. Have a nice one, Rosie.”

After they settle down into their usual seat, Jeno resumes their previous conversation. “ _Confrontational_ ,” Jeno repeats, unimpressed. “He’s a litigation lawyer working in a contentious field—arguing is his bread and butter. I would hardly fault him for being competitive when litigation is win or lose. And may I remind you that you are hardly the bastion of conventionality.”

Jaemin purses his lips, looking displeased as he allows, “He’s not incompetent. He has an _unorthodox_ way of thinking, is all. He has a chip on his shoulder which makes him difficult to get along with.” He cuts into the tender meat of his ribeye. “It was for the best that he was returned to Litigation when the tax evasion case wrapped up. I would have quit if I had to be around him for any longer. I was astounded that grad recruitment and HR decided to take him on, but Seo’s always had a weak spot for him.” He finishes disdainfully.

“So he was a paralegal and then secured his training contract?” Jeno asks, raising an eyebrow at Jaemin’s distaste for Donghyuck Lee. “How old is he? I haven’t yet looked his profile up.”

“Don’t bother. He’s in our year, but he didn’t attend Oxbridge or the London set,” Jaemin says, wrinkling his nose. “He went to Birmingham, which is at least a Russell Group school, though they accept all manner of riff-raff in exchange for international student fees. You don’t need to look him up to recognise him—he didn’t ditch the accent when he came south to civilisation.”

“You live up to every southerner stereotype.”

“A pretentious prick is better than an unintelligent, untrustworthy Northerner,” Jaemin dabs his mouth delicately with his napkin. “Besides, it’s all a bit of fun.”

“I wonder if he’ll agree to that testament,” Jeno says pointedly. “So he’s only been here for around three years? I’ve heard his name a fair few time—I thought he had more experience.”

“Please,” Jaemin cuts into his steak. “When people speak of his experience, they don’t refer to his work, but rather his _personal pursuits_.”

“Isn’t that rather hypocritical?” Jeno asks. “This firm has a well-known reputation for our _familiarity_ and _closeness_. What we claim is a warm, welcoming culture is colloquially known as The Slag & Stag firm.”

Jaemin snorts, spearing his steak with careless elegance and popping it into his mouth. After he swallows, he says, “Jeno love, there’s a difference between making the rounds with your training contract peers and calculatedly seducing the firm founder’s grandson.”

Across the room, Jeno spots the debonair Jaehyun Jung of the Banking and Finance Department, the youngest Equity Partner in the firm, the grandson of SM LLP’s founder Soo Man Lee, and Jaemin’s half-brother.

“Ah, I see.”

“Indeed,” Jaemin smiles flatly, swallowing his bloody steak to reveal sharp, white teeth. “Donghyuck Lee is trouble.”

Donghyuck Lee in person is not what Jeno expected.

Given his _reputation_ , Jeno was expecting Donghyuck to look like a siren of legend, devastatingly beautiful and dangerous. Ethereal like Taeyong Lee of Intellectual Property, classically handsome like Jaehyun Jung, fit and dishy like Johnny Seo, or even just inordinately pretty like Jaemin Na.

Donghyuck Lee looks normal and unassuming. He’s of average height and build for a man of Korean ethnicity, his dark hair is swept in a bowl cut, he’s tanned and round cheeked with no particularly striking features. His black blazer is a smidgen too large around the shoulders, his white shirt slightly creased, and his trousers desperately need to be pressed.

When Jeno stands up to invite Donghyuck into his office for their meeting, he doesn’t have high hopes. At first glance, Donghyuck looks like any other NQ, just another young person in the City working their first professional job, straight down to the suit that’s bought off the high street. He looks boyish and tired and a bit out of place, but when he speaks:

Donghyuck addresses him like they’ve met before. Maybe they have; perhaps during the Christmas party or the annual retreat—but the firm employs over five hundred people, so Jeno doesn’t remember everyone he’s met.

Then, they go to shake hands.

Judge a person by their handshake. Too limp, then they’re timid and unsure. Too hard, then they’re committing battery and being an overcompensating prick.

Jeno has shaken a lot of hands over the decade—Donghyuck gets it just right. A complete grip of the hand, a cool and dry palm, three shakes, with a medium level of energy. Confident and sure, he looks Jeno in the eyes as they shake hands. Whatever rumours might travel on the grapevine, he knows Donghyuck Lee believes that he has earned his place in the firm.

One thing that Jaemin did get right though is that Donghyuck is confrontational.

It starts civilly enough: after he gets Donghyuck a cuppa (a splash of milk and two brown sugars), Jeno explains the situation and brings up the bundle of correspondence between Clinton and NHC on his computer.

Donghyuck is quiet for a while as he reads through the correspondence, so Jeno helpfully adds, “Clinton’s CEO has a complex. It’s more than likely this is an exercise of ego and he’s on a power trip. It’s unlikely that this,” he points between them, referring to their partnership, “is going to amount to much other than to allow Clinton their day in court and a wasted costs order.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge,” Donghyuck hums, still scanning through the documents.

“Harriet Clarkson is the CFO of NHC—she’s taken on her husband’s name. I’m fairly sure I saw it on The Telegraph or somewhere that Richard Huntington is her step-brother.”

Jeno narrows his eyes, wondering what Donghyuck is taking about until he sees that Donghyuck is on the Companies House website, looking at the list of directors of Johnson & Jones.

“Coincidentally, Richard Huntington is married to Beatrice Jones, one of the directors in Johnson & Jones.”

Jeno stares at the screen, his mind blank before he sharpens into a realisation.

“Johnson & Jones’ share price went up last week,” Jeno says slowly. “They’d been doing poorly for the last quarter and then suddenly they recovered.”

“NHC is the latest darling on the market. Clinton wanted to have them to maintain their market share. If Johnson & Jones got NHC, they would certainly attract investors and their share prices bounce back up.”

“If you’re correct, then this could be insider dealing.” Jeno says, his mind whirling with possibilities. “That’s a criminal offence. If it’s not, it could potentially be market abuse.”

It’s a lot to take in, especially when Jeno had been ready to throw the case away, but now there was a lot to research and consider.

“Your points have merit,” Jeno says, complimenting him. “You know a lot about the industry.”

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow, his voice cool, “I’m a corporate lawyer and a professional. Is it any surprise that I know a lot about my industry?”

Taken aback, Jeno says, “I just meant you have a sharp mind.”

“That was basic commercial awareness,” Donghyuck retorts, his eyes flashing. “Let’s put it bluntly. You didn’t think I was competent and now you’re flummoxed that I’m serious about my job. I don’t know _what_ you’ve heard about me, but I am here to deliver our clients’ best interest.”

 _He has a chip on his shoulder_ , Jaemin’s voice echoes in his head.

“I apologise if I’ve offended you. I only meant it as a compliment. Doyoung and I didn’t think of these points, so I was surprised to hear your analysis. I think you’ve more than earned your place in the firm.”

Donghyuck stares him down, his posture defensive, like they’re in a boxing ring and Jeno’s going to take a swing at him.

Finally, he sighs, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders, “I’m sorry. I might have overreacted. It’s the first time I’m given so much responsibility, working on a case with minimal supervision. My reputation in the firm is in the gutters, I know what people say about me and sometimes I just get really angry about it.” His smile seems more like a grimace, “You’re highly regarded in the firm so I was excited to work with you. I don’t want you to think Johnny was throwing you under the bus by sending you someone like me.”

Jeno blinks, embarrassment coming over him. He hadn’t expected that reaction.

“You aren’t the sum total of your reputation,” Jeno says, trying to comfort him. “And I am not as great as people think, to be honest. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for how I came off and I’m sorry that other people have been less welcoming. I think our professional lives should be divorced from our personal ones.”

Donghyuck says wryly, “That would be a dream, wouldn’t it?”

“I think we’ve started on the wrong foot. Perhaps we could start again?” Jeno says, attempting to cheer him up.

Donghyuck smiles for real this time. “Hello, I’m Donghyuck Lee, it’s a pleasure to work with you.”

“I’m Jeno,” he says, shaking his hand. “And the pleasure is all mine.”

**May**

With a billable hourly rate at £400, is it any surprise to be treated as an emotional punching bag? An android who just sits there, takes the abuse with a demurred ‘I’m sorry’ and promises to do better.

It’s fine. No big deal. He’s been there before. He went through the same thing working in foodservice without the comfy cushioning of a fat paycheque. He’s used to it. He won’t take it personally. It’s his fault, really. He should have been more careful. It’s fine. He’s not upset.

Jeno squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath of air.

 _Take your emotions and lock them away_ was one of the first things Doyoung taught him. _You have a mind and no heart_. Feelings have no place in corporate law, not in M&A. You don’t need a heart when you’re dealing with multi-billion-pound clients—it’ll only hinder you. Lock your heart away until you forget it exists.

Doyoung would know. At forty-five, he has two divorces under his belt and has sworn off relationships forever. He says that the divorces are just life’s way of telling him that law comes first. M&A is his husband, wife, mistress and child at the same time—a controlling bitch that demanded his fidelity and monogamy.

Doyoung warned him of the perils of getting married in their field of work. Long hours and demanding clients, no spouse enjoys playing second fiddle to your career—and your career is _definitely_ number one if you even want to survive in the firm. Jeno thought he could have both—have his cake and eat it at the same time. He thought finding the perfect partner to marry would save him, and Yeeun is definitely the perfect partner. She’s beautiful, filial, pious, smart and all the things Jeno thought his perfect spouse should be.

And yet—

Even the most understanding wife would be justifiably upset when their husband forgets about their fifth-year wedding anniversary, neglects to inform her that he can’t make it and stands her up at the restaurant.

Jeno prioritises his client over his wife, slaves over the deal, wades in mountains of paperwork, negotiates with the other side for months, stays past midnight in the office for the second week in a row—just for the client to yell in his face this morning, belittle his efforts, call him useless, scream that they’re lazy frauds.

Why? Because Jeno didn’t catch a mistake that his young twenty-two-year-old trainee solicitor made, which resulted in the other side’s lawyer exploiting the advantage.

Jeno takes the heat for the poor girl. She’s in the second month of her training contract, young and untested towards the mammoths of the job. Seeing her bow her face in shame as the client rips into them makes him feel protective. It’s not her fault—it’s Jeno’s fault as her supervisor for not checking her work thoroughly. A simple mistake, a poor word choice on the 150th page of the 467 paged terms & conditions—that’s all it takes for £2 million to be added to their client’s bill.

Jeno’s client—the one he has spent 1200 hours with according to his billable hours timesheet—who he has been in contact with every single day for the past month in the run up to the closing of the deal in six weeks _yells_ at him for being lazy. For slacking off. For being useless when Jeno spent the night before at the office until 02:00 working when he was supposed to be home from his anniversary dinner with his _wife_.

Yeeun, his wife of five years, doesn’t yell at him. After her fifth missed call and tenth unread text message at eight, she stopped. When he arrived home at three in the morning, there was a takeaway box from the Chiltern Firehouse—the seabass he had offhandedly mentioned that he wanted to try—sitting innocuously on the table along with a card that said simply:

_Dear Jeno,_

_Happy fifth wedding anniversary._

_Your wife,_

_Yeeun_

In the morning, he has to get up before she even wakes up, and he feels like the world’s worse person as he leaves her for work again. He had a bouquet of her favourite flowers and pastries from the Dominique Ansel bakery delivered to her, and yet the guilt was not assuaged. If she had yelled at him, he could have mustered a defence, tried to make amends, but she hadn’t said anything, and he just—

Then, to go into work, to face this client— _Jeno knows he’s not the best husband, but he’s always been a good lawyer—_ and get berated by him that Jeno and his team are rubbish when they’ve literally gone above and beyond themselves to deliver the best results…

He stares out from his private little corner in the rooftop garden beneath the Wisteria tree, looking and not feeling anything. £350,000 a year is recompense enough.

“Nice view, eh?”

Jeno glances up to see Donghyuck plop down next to him, his tie half undone and five o’clock shadow lining his jawline. He hurriedly turns away, surreptitiously patting his face to ensure that it’s dry.

“I suppose it is,” Jeno tries to smile. “You alright?”

“Fag break,” Donghyuck pulls out a little bag of tobacco, a small stack of rolling sheets and a tiny box of filters. He carefully piles a bit of tobacco onto a sheet before placing a filter on one end and then rolling it into a circle, bringing it up to his mouth to lick the edges of the sheet to seal it. Then, he places it to his mouth and lights it up with a Zippo, closing the lid with an audible snap.

“You want?” Donghyuck asks, catching Jeno staring at him. “I can roll you one?”

“I don’t smoke,” Jeno declines as Donghyuck blows the smoke in the other direction, “but thank you.”

“Really?” Donghyuck asks, raising an eyebrow. “Never?”

“No,” His father smoked and his mother never told him to quit, but her pinched expression formed a lasting memory on Jeno. Yeeun, too, detested the scent of smoke. “It’s bad for your health. I need good lungs—I’m training for a triathlon.”

“Of course you’re training for a triathlon,” Donghyuck exhales a mouthful of smoke elegantly, smiling sardonically. “I’m a Korean man, born and raised. Vices included.”

“Oh? You have quite a strong Midlands accent.” Jeno replies politely.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, “It’s okay… you can say that I sound like a Brummie, I won’t get upset even though you lot walk around with your RP accents like you’re on Downton Abbey.”

“Peaky Blinders has made people reconsider whether Birmingham is the UK’s most disliked accent.”

Donghyuck snorts, “I’m not Tommy Shelby, unfortunately.”

“You smoke like him,” Jeno notes, “though I don’t think he faffs about with roll-ups and Zippo’s.”

Donghyuck chuckles, “I’ve failed my New Year’s Resolution for the third straight year. I thought with the fucking astronomical prices of straights, I’d be persuaded to quit. I’m putting shit in my body after all, I don’t need it to be expensive. But no, I went through all of my straights that I bought in Istanbul duty free, so here I am, fucking around with rollies like I’m a fresher. And Zippo’s are just cool, even if they’re American.”

Jeno wonders how many cigarettes Donghyuck goes through that makes him think a 20 pack at an average of £10 is astronomical with his salary. “Ah, I see.”

“And what’s your vice, Jeno Lee?” Donghyuck smiles archly like he knows Jeno is judging him. “Or does SM LLP’s Golden Boy not have any?”

“I’m not the Golden Boy.” Jeno replies, defensive.

“No? Everyone thinks you’re a fucking legend. You were Trainee of the Year for the two years of your training contract. You got on The Lawyer magazine for Most Promising NQ Lawyer. Fucking Kim Doyoung, Goddamn slave driver and one of the highest earners in the firm, thinks you’re his fuck prodigy. The clients can’t get enough of you. You were even on the firm’s fucking graduate recruitment video—”

“And my marriage is on the fucking rocks and I’ve not had a break in _years_ ,” Jeno shoots back, his pulse thudding in his ears as Donghyuck carelessly belittles all of his achievements. “Is that what you want to hear?”

Donghyuck stares at him for a long moment.

Jeno shuts his eyes, his head in his hands— _does she not care_ , _I’m not good enough for her_ , _why are you so fucking useless Jeno Lee—_ swirling in his head. He tries to reign back the emotion, tries desperately not to cry in front of his co-worker. When he realises that he’s having a _breakdown_ in front of his co-worker, Jeno immediately sits up straight, straightening his jacket and tries to compose himself.

“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck looks genuinely stricken when Jeno chances a glance at him. “I didn’t know you’re married. I’m sorry to hear that. You lead such a perfect life and you make it seem so effortless. I’m sorry for saying so much shit, I know you work very hard to get where you are today.”

“It’s okay,” Jeno swallows, pushing down the emotions, his right hand touching the bare skin around his left ring finger. “I don’t wear my wedding band to work. I try not to let my personal life detract from my career. I’m sorry to burden you with this, it’s extremely unprofessional—”

“You’re human, not a robot,” Donghyuck says firmly, grabbing Jeno’s left hand and forcing him to look at him. “Your feelings are valid—it’s not unprofessional to _feel_ , especially when it’s something like your marriage. And you’re not a burden. You’re more than your earning capacity, your output and your accolades.”

Jeno dithers, torn between wanting to believe him and the endless spiral in his head. “I’ve never failed,” he says quietly, feeling Donghyuck squeeze his hand. “I don’t know what to do.”

“God knows I’m the worst person for relationships,” Donghyuck mutters wryly, “but have you tried—I don’t know—couples therapy?”

“Couples therapy?” Jeno says incredulously. “My marriage is in shambles because I’m too _busy_ working. Where do I find the time for therapy? I forgot about my fifth-year wedding anniversary because I was at work.”

“Well, half of the people in the firm is married,” Donghyuck offers. “Considering we all have minimum fifty-five-hour weeks, someone must have good advice on how to maintain their marriage.”

Jeno snorts, recalling, “Doyoung recommended me to Yuta, his _divorce_ lawyer, to sign a _prenup_ before I got married. When I went for a consultation, Yuta congratulated on my nuptials and then offered me a discount for when it inevitably ended.”

“You know,” Donghyuck muses, “the firm really should start a divorce division and offer a staff discount.”

He stares at Donghyuck who smiles sheepishly back, “Sorry, was that too flippant, I—”

Jeno bursts into hysterical laughter because it’s so sad that it’s actually funny. Over the decade that he’s been at the firm, he would need more than two hands to count the number of divorces he’s seen.

“I called her to apologise for missing out on our anniversary dinner,” Jeno blurts out, because Donghyuck doesn’t know that Jeno and Yeeun are supposed to be this perfect union. “And do you know what she said?”

Jeno had broken routine today; he had taken the seabass with him to work, as if eating cold fish from Chiltern Firehouse was his penance. He had called his wife afterwards, asking if she had received the delivery.

“She’s didn’t yell or scream at me. She just sounded so… so _resigned_ , like she couldn’t be bothered to fight. And I… I didn’t know what to say. How do you tell your wife that she matters to you when you literally forgot about your wedding anniversary? How do I tell her that I’m sorry, that I didn’t mean to make her feel like this?”

“ _You’re a busy man, Jeno. I know you didn’t mean to stand me up. I was worried—I thought something happened to you, which is why you didn’t come. You’re not a bad person, Jeno. I know you’re busy with work and that you’re under a lot of stress, so things like this slip your mind. I wish… I just wish I meant more._ ”

“How long has it been like this?”

“Weeks, months, years, hell, I don’t know,” Jeno runs a hand through his hair in frustration, cringing when he forgot that he had styled it up this morning and now it was ruined. “Everything was fine, until it wasn’t. I just—one day, I had the realisation that we only spoke on the weekend. And even then, there wasn’t anything to say. It was work, our parents, the _weather_ , like we exhausted all our topics in the 12 years we’d been together.”

“Twelve years is a long time to be with someone.”

“I know, but—is this what a marriage is supposed to be like?” Jeno asks, like Donghyuck knows the answers. “Everyone says marriage is difficult but rewarding, but I never imagined it would be so…”

“Boring?” Donghyuck prompts. “Flat?”

Jeno swallows, and then quietly, “Yes” and feels shame wash over him at the confession.

“Do you love her?” Donghyuck asks.

“She’s the only person I’ve ever been with. I can’t imagine myself with anyone but her. It’s _only_ been her. Ever. And it scares me that we’re like this. Because she hasn’t changed—she’s still beautiful and wonderful and kind and understanding, and I’m just the fucking bellend who doesn’t appreciate her.”

“It takes two to make a marriage work. Has she made any overtures?” Donghyuck asks lightly. “Look, bashing yourself isn’t going to revive your marriage. If you want it to work, you should spend more time with her. Maybe actually talk to her?”

“I know, it’s just—” he exhales, his mind pulling up his schedule for the near future. “The closing is coming up. I have another big case to close in three months. Work just keeps coming and I’m flailing just to keep abreast. There’s so much responsibility and I shouldn’t even be here, I should just shut up and stop feeling and work—”

Abruptly, he cuts off. His head is in the crook of someone’s neck. There’s a hand along Jeno’s back. It takes him a minute before he realises that he’s being hugged, and then he sags into Donghyuck’s hold.

Jeno doesn’t remember the last time someone touched him with the purpose of giving him comfort. He shook hands with a client just this morning, Jaemin had greeted him with a bro hug when they went for their customary Saturday bike ride, but someone touching him for longer than a few seconds…

Three Sunday’s ago, after Jeno and Yeeun had returned from church and lunch with his parents, they had sex for approximately eight minutes. He remembered that because there weren’t any condoms by his nightstand, so he had gone to get one from the medicine cabinet. At that moment, he had a breakthrough for a case, so he noted the time for timekeeping purposes.

Perhaps, this _encounter_ was also memorable because Jeno was unable to maintain his erection. Despite the physical stimulation, his mind was singularly focused on trying to remember a particular clause of the Takeover Rules, which wasn’t exactly an arousing thought. Somehow, despite his distraction, he was able to please Yeeun, but when he couldn’t _finish_ in a minute, he called it quits to spare both of their embarrassment. Afterwards, he went to shower and then went to his office to do some work.

But sincere physical comfort, a person who _holds_ Jeno not out of social necessity or for sex … it’s been a very long time. He closes his eyes, breathes in the scent of cigarettes and warmth, something woodsy and familiar. Donghyuck is just… lightly rubbing his back, as if reassuring him that he’s here, that Jeno isn’t alone, and it’s _nice_.

He realises that Donghyuck is humming a song quietly underneath his breath. Jeno focuses on Donghyuck, on his husky voice, on the near unintelligible lyrics of a song he’s heard but can’t quite remember, on his warm scent, on his heart beating steadily in his chest, on the arm that’s holding Jeno together—and it’s okay.

Donghyuck leans back to look at him, glancing at his face as if he’s checking how Jeno’s doing, but he doesn’t ask any inane questions, so Jeno doesn’t need to lie.

Jeno smiles back softly at him and realises—this is not a lie.

**June**

“You’ve worked here for practically a decade, go to the gym every single day, but you’ve never known that we have a dance room?”

Against Donghyuck’s deadpan statement, Jeno defends himself helplessly, “I never needed to! I do my usual workouts in the gym—abs, legs, weight and cardio. Sometimes, I go swimming in the office pool. I never saw the need to change it up.”

Donghyuck tsks, “You’re lucky you have me then. Getting your sweat on in the dance room to some tunes is the best way to get your energy levels up and your endorphins pumping!”

Jeno lets himself be tugged into the dance room, feeling like Alice brought into Wonderland. He’s still reeling from how they went from the familiarity of his office, the setting sun shining through his window as they drafted the Claim Form, to being inside the mirrored dance room in the basement just half an hour later.

“I know how to get my endorphins pumping,” Jeno replies smartly. “I exercise every morning before work.”

“I respectfully say that your argument in invalid. It’s ten past nine and you’re squinting at the monitor far more than usual, Mr. Lee,” Donghyuck says with a cheeky smile. “All those late nights are doing you in and I’m sure your body has long since become accustomed to caffeine, so we’re going to have to energise in another way.”

“I suppose you’re the leading expert on what constitutes alternate forms of exercise.” Jeno says sarcastically.

“Of course, I do,” Donghyuck lets go of his hand, going to the speakers to attach the aux cord to his phone. “Though we unfortunately can only do the second most fun form of exercise—dancing. The first being sex.”

Jeno chokes, not expecting that. “I- I see.” He dare not say anymore.

“Consider it a Zumba class! I’m not as perky an instructor as a Scouse beach blond babe whose biggest dream is to be on Love Island, but I can be equally as persuasive! Or you could think of it as dancing in the club!”

“The last time I was in the club was—”

“Wait, let me guess—before you were a married man?” Jeno shakes his head. “Before you started your training contract?” Donghyuck gapes when Jeno shakes his head again. “The fuck? The last time you went clubbing was before you started the Legal Practice Course? Seriously mate? You’re thirty! You started your LPC when you were twenty-one! Has it really been nine years since you went clubbing? You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”

“I’m not,” Jeno laughs, half flustered by Donghyuck’s incredulous expression. “It just seems unprofessional to go clubbing. My wife, Yeeun, she’s two years older than me. I didn’t want her to think I was playing around.”

“God Almighty,” Donghyuck shakes his head. “You were twenty-one and hung up your dancing shoes because you thought it was _unprofessional_. I’ve met- I’ve met lawyers from the firm at clubs before.”

Before Jeno can even question—was it _Jaehyun_? But the only club he knew Jaehyun to frequent was the Oxford and Cambridge Club, a private members’ only institution that Donghyuck shouldn’t be able to enter unless invited by a member—he continues, “Well, since it’s been so long, I have to pull out _all_ the classics.”

The opening strum of the fiddle plays through the speakers and Jeno instinctively clocks the song.

“Really?” He deadpans. “You’re really playing this?”

The chorus comes on and Donghyuck shouts, “ _Come on, Eileen! Oh I swear at the moment you mean everything. You in that dress my thoughts verge on dirty. Oh, come on, Eileen!_ ”

“You’re not even British!” Jeno exclaims, trying not to laugh when Donghyuck hangs his blazer on the barre, folding his shirtsleeves up and loosening his tie as he groves to the music. “How do you even know this song?”

“This song is a British classic! I’ve been to so many house parties I’m an honorary Brit,” Donghyuck chuckles. “The Brummies really know how to party, you know? None of this stuffy southerner shit! Though I only really know the lyrics to the chorus.” He finishes with a sheepish smile.

Just as he finishes his sentence, the chorus returns, and Donghyuck immediately launches in enthusiastically.

_“Come on Eileen! Oh, I swear aah come on let’s take off everything! That pretty red dress Eileen. Aah, come on lets. Aah, come on Eileen that pretty red dress Eileen. Aah, come on lets. Aah, come on Eileen.”_

The next song causes Jeno to roll his eyes even harder through his smile. “You are such a lad.”

“I resent that!” Donghyuck protests even though he’s grinning from side to side. “It’s a fucking classic! You go to any party, club or whatever—this song _has_ to be played or it’s not a proper party. It’s basically the fucking British anthem. You know, the BBC Proms were concerned about _Rule, Britannia_ and _Land of Hope and Glory_ because of its imperialist tone, so the locals on Twitter enthusiastically suggested this to replace it instead!”

“You’re certainly right that this song attracts all the Brits—it might be the only song that somehow all the English, Scots, Welsh and Northern Irish agree on. The only time we can be a United Kingdom.”

Donghyuck laughs, “A fucking miracle there, innit? Maybe if this song preceded football matches, we’d win more games at the World Cup instead of dozing off to God Save the Queen.”

“It really is the national anthem,” Jeno says with wry amusement. “You go to Ibiza, sing the opening lines to this song and every Brit in the vicinity will start chanting along with their Foster’s in the air.”

“Have you ever been to Ibiza?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow, and Jeno shakes his head sheepishly. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. They don’t drink Foster’s, even the Aussie’s have disowned it and it’s _theirs_. Nah, mate—it’s a British thing. We down Foster’s beer and Frosty Jack’s cider because we’re tasteless and basic.”

“Frosty Jack’s?” Jeno repeats, horrified, thinking of the 2.5 litre 7.5% ABV bottle that sold for £3 and came with public health warnings. “It tastes like piss and gets you so pissed!”

“Oh, it totally does!” Donghyuck says with a manic grin. “I used to get off my face plastered with Frosty Jack’s back in Birm. Three quid and it sorted your night out—not bad when you’re going out three days a week. I can’t fucking look at it without getting flashbacks from fresher’s, but there were some good times.”

“I feel inclined to apologise to your body for the abuse you’ve put it through.”

Donghyuck laughs, exposing a bright grin. “I’m sure it would agree. It’s been through a lot.”

_“Coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine. Gotta gotta be down because I want it all. It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this? It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss.”_

“You can’t tell me you don’t like this song,” Donghyuck shakes his head to the music, gesturing for Jeno to join him. “I don’t believe you Oxford boys solely listened to opera and choral music for a damn second.”

_“Now I'm falling asleep and she's calling a cab while he's having a smoke and she's taking a drag. Now they're going to bed and my stomach is sick and it's all in my head. But she's touching his chest now, he takes off her dress now. Let me go. And I just can't look, it's killing me and taking control.”_

Sighing, Jeno indulges Donghyuck’s whims, feeling like he’s an awkward eighteen-year-old boy holding his first snakebite at the Fresher’s Bop while listening to this song play through the speakers. He blinks and he’s back watching with wide-eyed stupefaction as a girl snorted cocaine off a boy’s belly button, a boy vomited against the steps of the college chapel older than America’s founding, and a couple sullied the immaculate quad lawn by having sex. They got a chastisement from the porters for that—stepping on the lawn, that is, not having sex. Oxford did have their priorities straight, after all.

_“Jealousy, turning saints into the sea, swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis. But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes, 'cause I'm Mr. Brightside.”_

The guitar rift plays out and Jeno laughs as Donghyuck strums his air guitar, accompanying him by shaking his head like they’re at a rock concert as they shout the last “ _I never!_ ” part of the lyrics in unison.

“How’s that for a national anthem?” Donghyuck asks, grinning.

“The Killers aren’t actually British,” He smiles when Donghyuck looks surprised. “They’re American. If we’re talking actually British anthem, this is it—they played it at the Olympics, after all.”

Donghyuck unlocks his phone to let Jeno choose the song. Before Spotify is pulled up, he briefly glimpses that Donghyuck’s home screen is a picture of him and his siblings from at least fifteen years ago.

It’s quiet for two seconds before there’s a laugh coming through the speakers, and Donghyuck stares at him.

“Jeno Lee. You are a fucking legend.”

Mel B’s voice launches into the song and it’s like an instant shot of adrenaline.

_“Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want. So tell me what you want, what you really, really want. I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want. So tell me what you want, what you really, really want. I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, ha) I wanna, (ha). I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazig ah.”_

Donghyuck grabs Jeno and together they’re dancing together like tween girls on a sleepover with a sugar high.

_“If you want my future, forget my past. If you wanna get with me, better make it fast. Now don't go wasting my precious time, get your act together we could be just fine.”_

It’s ridiculous. They’re highly paid professionals in their thirties and they’re dancing poorly to the Spice Girls when they’re supposed to be working. Not only does he look _ridiculous_ flailing about and pulling retro dance moves, he’s also ruining his handmade John Lobb monk shoes by sliding across the floor, but somehow he can’t bring himself to care—not when Donghyuck grins at him like this, not when he feels so high.

_“I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want. So tell me what you want, what you really, really want. I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha). I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazig ah. If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. Make it last forever, friendship never ends. If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give. Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is.”_

_“Oh, what do you think about that. Now you know how I feel. Say, you can handle my love, are you for real?”_ Donghyuck sings, looking him up and down with a sassy expression that makes Jeno laugh. _“I won't be hasty, I'll give you a try. If you really bug me then I'll say goodbye.”_

Donghyuck’s singing pushes Jeno, which is why he opens his mouth, rapping, _“So, here's a story from A to Z. You wanna get with me, you gotta listen carefully.”_ His gobsmacked expression almost derails Jeno’s flow, but he holds himself together, rapping like Stormzy. _“We got Em in the place who likes it in your face. You got G like MC who likes it on a easy V doesn't come for free, she's a real lady. And as for me, ha you'll see.”_

He wraps an arm around Donghyuck’s shoulder as the last part comes, the two of them singing (yelling), _“If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. Make it last forever, friendship never ends. If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give. Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is. If you wanna be my lover.”_

When the song plays its last few beats, Jeno gives Donghyuck the finger guns which makes him descend into hysterics, and that causes Jeno to laugh too.

“You are a surprise, Jeno Lee,” Donghyuck huffs, his eyes twinkling brightly. “That rapping was fire. Why, if you sold me your mixtape down by King’s Cross St. Pancras station, I’d buy it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jeno shoves him lightly. “I’m not a wannabe SoundCloud rapper.”

Donghyuck laughs, collapsing onto the floor with the force of his laughter, and Jeno goes with him, half-concerned and half-amused. “I just—” he wheezes, looking at Jeno’s face. “I had this thought of you in a snapback, chains, Adidas joggers, counterfeit Supreme and those fuckboi slippers—ha!”

“You cease that at once!” Jeno exclaims, his jaw dropping as the mental image came across his mind. “You slander my good name! That is defamation!”

Donghyuck only giggles, clutching onto Jeno’s forearms as he bangs his hand against the floor. “The prim and proper Jeno Lee wear athleisure outside of the gym? Slippers out of the swimming pool? Call the cavalry, sire!”

“Oh, be quiet,” Jeno tries to stop Donghyuck from teasing him, silencing him by leaning half of his weight over his chest to clap a hand over his mouth because the litigation lawyer is impossible to opine quiet.

Jeno feels the press of his mouth against his palm and the softness of his lips as Donghyuck continues to laugh soundlessly. He finally takes his hand away as Donghyuck’s warm brown eyes stop crinkling as his laughter peters out, staring back at Jeno with round doe eyes.

There’s a thumping in Jeno’s heart, the rush of adrenaline from dancing fading and leaving a lingering sort of feel-good emotion. Jeno moves off Donghyuck’s chest, mirroring his position by lying on the ground facing him, and he shivers slightly from the cold of the hardwood floor.

“I’ve never seen you smile like that before,” Donghyuck says after a moment, his voice filled with an abject sort of wonder. He lifts his right hand, index finger tracing the air above his mouth, and Jeno tracks the movement, his lips tingling acutely as if Donghyuck is actually touching him.

Jeno blinks, reaching up to touch his mouth, realising that he’s smiling still, “Oh. I don’t remember the last time I laughed like that.”

Donghyuck smiles, small and close-lipped, but undeniably sincere.

“You look so… I don’t know, you know happy and human and real when you laugh like that.”

“Human?” Jeno questions with a small smile. “Am I so intimidating a robot at other times?”

“No. You look- I guess you feel untouchable. Perfect and beyond mortal reach, like a statue in the V&A museum,” Donghyuck tilts his head, looking over Jeno carefully. “But you’re just man and flesh beneath; a swan who puts up this veneer of being graceful and effortless on the surface but is paddling furiously beneath water to stay afloat.”

It’s an apt metaphor. It should be scary, letting Donghyuck know that he isn’t the successful man he wants the world to view him as, but instead it feels freeing.

“I wish I was as graceful and effortless as people think I am,” Jeno discloses, his hand twitching as he confesses his weakness, and then he places his hand in the space between their bodies, trying to suppress the unconscious tick. “All I ever do is work, work and work, and it takes everything from me.”

Donghyuck watches him carefully, but his eyes are soft, not the critical scrutiny Jeno always faces. His right hand moves closer, just an inch from Jeno’s own. But Donghyuck doesn’t press him, instead he says wryly, “Maybe they think you’re graceful because they saw your dancing.”

It’s _absurd_. Beyond the fact that he just told him the last time he danced he was twenty-one and he knows Donghyuck hasn’t forgotten, just the fact that Jeno is a graceful dancer is bonkers.

“Now, you’re flattering me.”

The corner of Donghyuck’s mouth twitches, but he says, “Perhaps the _Inbetweener’s_ arm dance was not the choicest example of your ability,” to which Jeno rolls his eyes with a smile, “but as someone who still actively dances, I’d say you’re not bad. I’d go as far as to wager that you’ve had some training.”

“And what qualifications do you possess?” Jeno throws at him.

“Latin dance,” Donghyuck replies smoothly, like he’s been waiting for this question. “The salsa, but these past years, the bachata. I’ve been dancing ever since I was a boy.”

The bachata. Jeno’s mind flashes with the image of Donghyuck and his partner, faces in kissing distance, their hips pressed together, their legs interlocked as a sultry beat plays in the background. Jeno sees Donghyuck as he arches and curves his body in waves, as he circles his hips and does body isolations, as he leads his partner and controls them like a snake charmer.

“Oh,” Jeno blinks, swallowing. “Um, you have a lot of experience.”

Donghyuck smiles, amused. “I suppose I do,” he taps his fingers against the smooth wooden floor, and Jeno imagines his tanned hand splayed against his partner’s waist, moving them to the beat of his music. “And you? Are you experienced or has it been a while?” he asks, looking into Jeno’s eyes. “Since you last danced.”

Jeno clears his throat, “I learnt hip-hop for around eight years. Then I quit when I was sixteen.”

“Why?”

It’s easy. Jeno could say he was busy preparing for his A-Level’s or he lost interest, and they would all be valid reasons. Instead, what comes out of his mouth is—

“I was fifteen when I met Yeeun working in my mum’s Korean restaurant. She was two years older than me and she had guys lining up to date her. I wanted to be worthy of her, I didn’t want her to be embarrassed to be dating nerdy, awkward, childish Jeno Lee. I wanted to be a man deserving to stand at her arm.”

“And how does that equate to you quitting dance?”

“Her ex-boyfriend was tall, muscular and popular—he was on the school rugby team.”

“A rugby lad—joy,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you joined the rugby team.”

“Do you think I could have been in the rugby team even if I wanted to?”

“Nah, your face wouldn’t look like that,” Donghyuck gazes lingers on Jeno’s face. “Your nose is too perfect to have been through rugby. And via some miracle a la Johnny Seo, you don’t have the girth for it.”

Jeno snorts, “I’ll take that as a compliment. No, I joined the cricket team. I was a batsman and being on the team made me more sociable.”

“Meaning that suddenly you were seen as less of a _loser_ ,” Donghyuck says, making quotation marks, “and more of a viable choice for her?”

“Yeeun’s from a good family. Compared to her, I was lacking in every way,” he looks at Donghyuck’s sceptical expression, adding wryly. “I didn’t attend Eton College.”

“Ah my mistake, you didn’t wear a tailcoat and bowtie to attend Jaemin Na and Prince William’s alma mater,” Donghyuck says. “Instead, because you wore a straw hat, you’re a man of the people and went to Harrow, just like Benedict Cumberbatch and James Blunt.”

“Oh God. I didn’t attend public school; I never boarded. I went to a mixed school.”

“Public school,” Donghyuck says contemptuously. “How is it public when it’s only open to the 1%?”

“It’s called public because these schools are public in the sense that they’re open to pupils irrespective of locality, denomination or paternal profession. Hundreds of years back, the aristocracy and nobility would receive their education privately via tutors and professors,” Jeno explains. “It’s probably more correct to call them independent schools these days.”

“I don’t believe you went to a comprehensive state school. You wouldn’t get that accent if you did.”

“I lucked out by passing the 11-plus and was able to go to a grammar school. My parents put down my postcode as my uncle’s address; he lived in a better area than we did. All my classmates came from more affluent areas.”

“So she’s rich and your family is decidedly normal,” Donghyuck interprets dryly. “Therefore, you quit dance, joined the cricket team, became popular and then she gave you the time of the day?”

“Yeeun isn’t so superficial,” Jeno replies, frowning. “But you want to improve yourself for the person you love. She graduated two years ahead of me, took a gap year and decided on Brookes, while I applied for Oxford. The summer before I started uni, I asked her out because I finally felt like I could be deserving of her.”

“At least you’re not the type of guy who has to attend the same university. Imagine being University of Oxford material and studying at Oxford Brookes University.”

“It’s a good university,” Jeno supplies dubiously.

“You don’t sound too sure,” Donghyuck says knowingly, smirking when Jeno sighs. “It’s okay, you earned the privilege to be snobby, graduating with a shiny First Class Honours at Oxford, the UK’s leading university. At least your hubris isn’t to Anglia Ruskin’s level—imagine claiming yourself to be Cambridge’s finest university! They even have the sign advertised on the train station when you disembark!”

“My issue with Brookes is that they’re filled with toffs,” he huffs when he sees Donghyuck’s pointed look. “Say what you will of Oxford, many are privileged but the vast majority are hardworking. We have three eight-week terms. Each week we write 2000-word essays for each of our three tutorials. Then, for an hour with two to three students, you have to defend it to the don— professors who have written the country’s leading textbooks. This, on top of classes and regular lectures. It’s an average of forty-five hours weekly. If that isn’t bad enough, we’re assessed twice—three exams at the end of first year and nine exams at the end of third year. 100% all at once. It's a lot of pressure.”

“But when I visited Yeeun at Brookes, I saw how the other side learnt. They had essays for each subject per term, some of their essays formed part of their marks, and they had so much time to lark about,” Jeno shakes his head just thinking of the disparity in their working hours. “But I didn’t want to be this nerd who punched above his weight. I knew I had to prove myself, so I joined my college’s rowing team. Somehow, I got selected as a member of the Oxford University Boat Club, and I became a Varsity Blue.”

“You competed in The Boat Race between Oxford and Cambridge?” Donghyuck asks, deadpan. He sighs when Jeno nods in confirmation. “God, you’re really allergic to rest and relaxation. You couldn’t have enjoyed being in a fancy college with a nice boathouse and winning the occasional bumps. No, you just had to participate in Oxbridge’s fiercest Varsity rivalry since the 1800s.”

“1829,” Jeno corrects, smiling amusedly when Donghyuck tuts in askance. “Trust me, I know. I was the President of the OUBC in my third year. Six days a week of training for The Boat Race plus committee duties on top of my usual workload—honestly, it prepared me for working in the firm so much.”

“Did you like it?” Donghyuck asks. The question startles Jeno so much that he almost falls flat on his back. For the entire conversation, they were lying on their sides and facing each other. “Rowing, I mean.”

Jeno frowns. Not to be pompous, but people were impressed that he was the OUBC President who led Oxford to victory on The Boat Race after years of Cambridge domination, graduated with a First and got a training contract at SM LLP. It seemed to go without asking that he liked rowing, considering the amount of time he spent on it. It was the first time that someone genuinely asked whether Jeno enjoyed it that he felt flummoxed on how to reply.

“I mean, I don’t hate it,” Jeno answers, smiling slightly for a little levity. “It’s definitely helped with my career and social life. Rowing made me a stronger person, physically and mentally.”

“Jeno,” Donghyuck was looking at him with a strange look in his eyes, “You don’t need to give me an interview answer. I’m asking whether you enjoy it.”

“I’m good at rowing,” Jeno answers. “And I like being good at things. My parents were proud of me and I could be with Yeeun without disapproval. It is an honour to be a Blue, to follow two hundred years of tradition and to be given the privilege of wearing the Full Blue blazer. To represent Korea in such a white dominated sport.”

“Being good at things doesn’t mean you have to like them,” Donghyuck says, his voice far too gentle. “You must have liked dancing if you did it for so long. Would you have considered joining the dance team?”

When he was eighteen, he was in Yeeun’s flatshare in Oxford when her parents visited unexpectedly. At that time, they hadn’t told their parents about the relationship yet. Upon seeing the politely veiled disdain in her parents’ eyes, Jeno introduced himself as Yeeun’s friend. He knew that they berated her for befriending a _waiter_. It wasn’t until Jeno graduated top in his year, a training contract secured in his belt, and being the OUBC President who led Oxford to victory that he had dared to finally meet Yeeun’s parents properly.

“ _Dancing_ ,” Jeno repeats, almost amused at the thought. “Dancing is fun—a passion project—but it’s best to leave those behind when you’re a teenager. To get where I am now, I had to prove myself to be an adult, a _man_. I can’t be a selfish little boy faffing about, I have to think about my future and the people around me.”

Donghyuck stares at him for a long moment.

“God, Jeno—that’s just,” Donghyuck shakes his head, exhaling. “You were sixteen, then eighteen, then twenty-one, and you’re just thirty now. Your age doesn’t define you. You don’t have to prune yourself of hobbies you consider societally unacceptable because of your age—there is no age limit to when you have to pack it up and stop having fun. When the clock strikes twelve on your birthday, you don’t magically lose interest in your hobbies. Your age is just a fact, not your defining trait, the trajectory that guides the things you like.”

“I’m a thirty-year old professional and married man. I think people would frown on me gallivanting around, dancing instead of liking something more age appropriate.”

“So what if people consider your interests childish? Societal standards are skewed. This country is obsessed with football. Geezers will spend ungodly amounts of money on tickets, travel across countries for games, get tattoos of their favourite clubs, and even start riots on a game where people run around kicking a ball. And they _dare_ to tell you that dancing is inappropriate? Dancing, an social pastime which has been around for centuries, is frowned upon rather than football and all its hooligans. _Right_.”

“I think it’s just the expectation that we should settle down as we get older.”

“ _Settle down_?” Donghyuck repeats, his lips curling contemptuously. “I fucking hate that term and the implications so much. As if we all have to follow a set routine in life, like there’s a fucking timeline for us to follow. Life isn’t a series of milestones and I abhor how society has conditioned us to think that’s all it is.”

He looks at Jeno piercingly, “So now that you’re married and have a house, what is next? Which conventional goal do you have to achieve? Children at thirty-five, Partner at forty-five, retire at sixty? If we’re following statistics, we might as well add lung cancer at sixty-five, suffer, and then die! The end!”

“To think that just because we’re adults, that we’re no longer eighteen, we have to give up all the things we enjoy in exchange for _work, work and more work_ is mind-numbing and soul-sucking!”

“Well, work isn’t everything,” Jeno says weakly, “it’s just that right now I’m climbing the career ladder.”

Donghyuck laughs sarcastically, his eyes sharp, “That’s what they all say. If you don’t go dancing and enjoy yourself now, when will you actually do so? In ten years when you’re buried under as a Partner with children? Or in twenty years when you have ill health? Or are you going to be that person at the end of their life, looking back full of regrets on how they worked too much and didn't prioritise the things they wanted to do?”

Jeno doesn’t have anything to say. He can’t say anything.

“Do the things you _want_ , do the things you _like_ —not because it’s what you think an adult should do but because you want to do it. Having fun isn’t reserved exclusively for teenagers, no matter what popular culture tells us. Adult life isn’t monotonous, we only feel joyless and old because we don’t do the things we’re interested in. The crowning accomplishment of an adult shouldn’t be that they seem like a responsible person. Instead, it should be that they were able to live a fulfilling and happy life.”

Jeno is quiet for a moment as he ponders Donghyuck’s words.

“You feel very strongly about this.”

Donghyuck snorts, leaning on his back and staring up at the ceiling fixtures. “I do. I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I want. You live an extremely successful and conventional life, the golden standard of what every law student would like to have. I’m not. I fucked up a lot of times before I got here.”

“Why do you say that?”

Donghyuck is uncharacteristically quiet as he considers his words. “You know I’m Korean, I’m here on a Tier 2 work visa. When I graduated, my parents wanted me to come back as a foreign lawyer. Only I didn’t. I couldn’t go back into the closet and pretend that I could marry a girl. I came out to my parents and they didn’t take it well. They said I was selfish and misunderstood. They said only to come home when I came to my senses. I haven't gone home in eight years.”

Jeno’s stomachs twists. “That’s terrible. I’m…”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Donghyuck warns.

“I wasn’t going to. I wanted to say I know,” Jeno exhales, his heart thudding as Donghyuck narrows his eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. I married to a woman, but…” he gulps, feeling nervous even though there’s no reason to, even though Donghyuck won’t judge and can’t ruin his reputation. “I’m bisexual.”

“I know I’m not a very good one since I married the first person I dated and she’s a cis woman, but…” Jeno trails off, clearing his throat. “My parents are conservative. When they heard that gay marriage was legalised, they were outraged, so I’ve never dared to tell them. Then, I got married to Yeeun, and well, they would have thought I was confused and I didn't want to create conflict by coming out, but uh, yeah.” Jeno rambles.

“Your sexuality belongs to yourself. You don’t have to prove it by fucking the rainbow. If you think you are bi, then you are, you don’t need to justify it,” Donghyuck says seriously, placing a hand on Jeno’s arm. “You could have been only with women, be attracted to men, and you’d still be bisexual. Sexuality has degrees, it’s not a 50/50 split.”

It feels too simple to respond with “thank you” but Jeno has never been good with speaking words, hence why he chose to be a solicitor rather than a barrister.

Still, Donghyuck just smiles simply at him, and they dwell into a comfortable silence as the music continues to play.

“Oh God—this song,” Donghyuck turns on his side, the side of his lip quirking up. “It’s like the soundtrack to so many kisses I’ve had with guys in the club. Something about it just makes everyone in the mood for love.”

Jeno turns to look at Donghyuck. “I can’t say I’ve ever kissed anyone to Wonderwall.”

“And how many people have you ever kissed?”

Jeno presses his lips together, looking away.

“Seriously?” Donghyuck’s eyes bulge out in shock. “Only _one_?”

“And how many people have you kissed to Wonderwall?” Jeno shoots back, red creeping up on his cheeks.

“Far too many to count,” Donghyuck laughs. “Like… fifteen? I don't remember. We had a cheese room in the student union club. Every time I got super drunk I always ended up there and I’d kiss anyone when this song played.”

_“Today was gonna be the day but they'll never throw it back to you. By now you should've somehow realized what you're not to do. I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do, about you now.”_

Jeno falls silent, watching Donghyuck close his eyes, quietly singing.

_“And all the roads that lead you there are winding and all the lights that light the way are blinding. There are many things that I would like to say to you but I don't know how.”_

_“I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me and after all, you're my wonderwall. I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me and after all, you're my wonderwall.”_

Jeno thinks that maybe it’s not the song—it’s Donghyuck who all the boys want to kiss. Liam Gallagher can think that Oasis is a band better than God, but Donghyuck—even under the harsh studio lights with dark circles beneath his eyes—looks like an angel. If he looks like this now when he’s not even trying, then he must be a divine vision beneath the strobe lights of a nightclub, dancing chest to chest and hip to hip with a boy.

_“I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me, you're gonna be the one that saves me, you're gonna be the one that saves me.”_

Donghyuck is an angel without wings. And every man wants salvation.

Every man wants to be kissed by an angel.

**July**

Closing day is _bliss_.

Perhaps it’s the sleep deprivation talking—he’s clocked eighty hours and it’s Friday morning—but he’s clean forgotten the trauma of working for this client. It’s a mental cleanse that his brain subconsciously undertakes.

There was a literal abuse of Bob Bob Cite’s ‘press for champagne’ button at the celebratory lunch, which must explain how he became the bosom buddy of the git of a director who made half his team cry. Not only did they collectively commiserate over their losses at the Royal Ascot, but he also accepted an invitation to the Royal Box in Wimbledon the week after.

Jeno blames the restaurant. Housed in the iconic Leadenhall Building, a right angled triangular grey and blue building fondly nicknamed the Cheesegrater because of its shape, instead of food with a view outside, it was the décor inside that took precedence. Far away from the modest sized windows, they were transported away from the monotony to the fish tank blue Trans-Siberian Express dining carriage but with a futuristic twist via the ticker-tape neon track running around the walls, like a bastardised version of the trading floor on the London Stock Exchange. Only instead of stock prices, it was the number of each table who pressed for champagne.

Despite lunching ( _drinking_ ) until three, when they return back to the firm, there’s a drinks trolley waiting for them. It isn’t a measly trolley with cheap Prosecco, Peroni beer and screwcap wine pushed around by a canteen server barely able to consume the drinks they were peddling. According to Doyoung—who had strong feelings about alcohol as a Le Cordon Bleu trained sommelier—the firm hired a mobile mixologist who came fully equipped to make custom cocktails beyond the usual summer favourites of Aperol Spritz and Pimm’s.

After a few Death in the Afternoon’s to celebrate with his team, Jeno was able to get some work done before he was coaxed into visiting the office bar for happy hour. The client was widely known across departments to be extremely _exacting_ , so it was no small feat to have a successful closing. Receiving a standing ovation as he strode in the bar with floor-to-ceiling panoramic views of the City almost made all those 3ams worth it.

As it was his team’s closing day, people from other departments bought rounds for them, so much so that Jeno had to start declining them and passing them onto other people.

“Mr. Popular, aren’t you?” A smooth, low voice drawls in his ear.

Jeno whirls around to see Jaemin, cross-armed and leaning against the spotless glass of the window, dressed in beige linen suit with a pink tie and loafers with no socks as it was Casual Friday.

“Jaemin!” he greets happily, moving to embrace his best friend, air-kissing both of his cheeks.

“Jen,” Jaemin smiles warmly, squeezing his bicep. “Congrats on the closing. I’d buy you a drink but since you’ve descended into _fais la bise_ territory, I’ll donate it in your name to the Cats Protection instead.”

“Aw, thank you,” Jeno smiles as Jaemin angles his phone screen to him, showing a £50 donation to his favourite cats’ welfare charity. “How are you? What are you doing here?”

“Funny story, that,” Jaemin smiles wryly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Usually when the Nobu chef comes on Friday nights, I’m lucky to even eat seaweed salad on rice. But today, I got the good nosh. The tuna toro tartare and black cod miso was scrumptious, even if I ate alone. Then I had an epiphany—what could take the British away from good food? Drinks, being the logical answer.”

Jeno laughs, “Please, you were never quite so poor as to starve to afford to maintain your drinking habit. Oh, but you’re a lucky sod—it’s been two years since they started subsidising Nobu and I’ve never been able to eat anything nicer than a bento.” he blinks. “Oh wait, you’ve had dinner? Is it already that late? What time is it?”

Jaemin glances at his wrist, his Piguet watch glinting beneath the light of the sun, “It’s quarter to eight. Why, did you have something to do?”

“Ah bollocks, I was meant to meet Do—”

Before he can finish his sentence, a voice interrupts him.

“Jeno, there you are.”

Involuntarily, a smile crosses his lips as he recognises the accent and he turns around, only for his eyes to widen at the sight.

Standing immaculately dressed in a sharp navy pinstriped suit is Donghyuck. The tailored blazer emphasises the breadth of his shoulders and the double-breasted waistcoat is nipped in to reveal a narrow waist. His matching trousers accentuate the length of his legs, cut at just the right length to show his gleaming black brogues. No longer does he look a boy at his first job, this is a lawyer who commands a room without word.

“Gieves & Hawkes?” Jaemin drawls. “Oh my days. I didn’t expect I would see the day you would wear the work of my tailor.”

“Na,” Donghyuck smiles politely. “What a pleasant surprise to see you at the bar.”

Jaemin stiffens, whether it’s because of the use of his surname or Donghyuck’s insinuation that he had fallen off the wagon after three years of teetotalism.

Jeno clears his throat, standing in between his stony-faced best friend and his genially smiling co-worker, “It seems that you’re both acquainted.”

“I had the pleasure of being Duck’s supervisor when he got his first job in the City as a young twenty-six-year-old paralegal,” Jaemin enunciates, his RP accent so distinguished it could cut glass. “How lovely to see you thriving in Johnny Seo’s department. I must commend you on the position. How far you’ve come.”

“Believe me, sir,” Donghyuck smiles tightly. “The pleasure was all mine. You’ve taught me valuable lessons I will never forget.”

Jaemin clenches his jaw, looking like he’s holding back words, and Jeno can physically see him count to ten like his therapist told him to do in an exercise of patience.

“Well then,” Jeno says, glancing at Donghyuck, “we should probably head to my office to get some work done before it’s too late.” He turns to Jaemin, extending a hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the usual?”

Jaemin smiles briefly, clasping his hand and leaning in for a half hug, “You better be at Highgate Cemetery or you'll be neighbours with Karl Marx. Hopefully you won’t be so hungover that you can’t cycle.”

“If I could row 4 miles at 6am training after OUBC socials, I can cycle 1.5 miles easily.”

Donghyuck snorts quietly under his breath, and Jaemin’s amused expressions falls into something neutral. “Right. I’ll see you at eleven then.” He nods coolly at Donghyuck, “Duck.”

“Na.” Donghyuck smiles saccharinely back at him. As soon as Jaemin is out of sight, his smile drops, and he knocks back Jeno’s half-drunk porn star martini. Then he turns to Jeno, “Off to yours?”

“After you.”

When they’re sequestered in Jeno's office, he broaches the subject, “Does he always mispronounce your name?”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, “Jaemin is basically a white toff. His fluency in French is far superior to his Korean— I’m pretty sure he speaks better Latin better and that’s a dead language. Donghyuck is too long and hard, so he shortened it to D-hyuck, only with his stupid pretentious accent, it turned into Duck.”

Jeno gazes at Donghyuck, who looks visibly annoyed, and feels the need to apologise. “I’m sorry for Jaemin, he might seem haughty, but he’s more than this. He’s a good person at heart, it just comes out wrong sometimes.”

Donghyuck looks at him with a strange expression, and then he shakes his head wryly, “Why are you always apologising for him? You really shouldn’t be so English.”

Jeno sighs, “Jaemin is my best friend. He’s not all bad. He’s gone through a lot which is why he has this prickly persona. But he shouldn’t treat you like this. Was your working relationship always this, um, contentious?”

“I- okay, so maybe we both contributed to it,” Donghyuck admits after a short moment, “but it’s just… he has immense privilege and he’s so—” he shakes his heading, sighing. “Let’s leave bygones be bygones. I’d rather say that he very much lives up to all the stereotypes of antisocial tax lawyers.”

That makes Jeno laugh, though he always seems to be laughing around Donghyuck. “He gave an equally favourable review of litigation lawyers, as you might expect.”

Donghyuck only rolls his eyes and that’s the last of it before they actually get to work, drafting the Particulars of Claim, a document which basically sets out the facts and the case which they are relying on.

Jeno is just checking over Donghyuck’s work when his stomach growls audibly. He looks up, blushing, and Donghyuck’s lips twitch. “You didn’t hear anything,” he says warningly, his face warm.

“You know what, Jeno?” Donghyuck asks seriously. “I feel super hungry and I would like to exercise my right of using the £30 Deliveroo allowance the firm so generously gives us.”

Jeno fails to keep his smile in check, “Good call.”

Initially, Jeno plans to order his usual—salmon poke bowl on kale—but Donghyuck protests, scoffing about him counting calories now after he’s drank his weight in alcohol. Somehow, this sparks a discussion where he discovers that Jeno hasn’t eaten fast food in _years_ , which leads to Donghyuck sliding up behind him, caging Jeno between his arms and the desktop as he merrily alters his basket.

Before Jeno knows it, he’s in the department pantry, standing in front of a spread that would incite Jamie Oliver to launch another campaign against fast food. There’s a glistening pepperoni pizza, a whole chicken, a heap of nuggets, a stack of burgers, a mountain of chips, and a Doner kebab that valiantly strains against the rubber band holding the box shut.

“Donghyuck… I’m participating in a triathlon next month,” Jeno says weakly.

Donghyuck saunters up to Jeno, pressing a finger to his lips to quiet him. “Hush, pet,” Jeno looks at him with wide eyes. “You’re drunk. None of what passes your lips is through any violation of your brain. You commit no sins. You can cheat on your lifestyle all you want.”

Jeno’s lips still tingle from Donghyuck’s touch even when he moves away. “I think I’m becoming sober.”

“Not for long,” Donghyuck says ominously, digging through the pantry refrigerator and emerging victoriously with a six pack of beer. “Ah Moretti, my fave girl—I knew I could rely on you.”

With a deft hand, Donghyuck opens the beer bottle with his lighter and hands one over to Jeno. “Cheers,” he says, clinking their bottles together. “Now we feast like kings!”

“Mecca’s is hardly the food of kings.”

“You know, Jeno—I’m here to give you real British experiences,” Donghyuck says sagely through a mouthful of chips and nuggets. “After a night of drinking, we load up on cheap carbs and meat of questionable origin to line our stomachs against all the poison we drank.”

“I’m pretty sure the science is that you should eat before you drink?” Jeno replies, even as he takes a few swigs of beer in between chowing down a double cheeseburger from Mecca's—is it him or did they become even smaller than usual?

“Unfortunately, the firm’s too central so there isn't a local chicken shop nearby. I mean, I like a cheeky Nando’s as much as the next lad, but a proper chicken shop is as essential as a good chippie.”

“Ah, how could you forget our greatest British classic, the ol’ fish & chips?” Jeno teases.

Donghyuck ignores him in favour of biting into the meat of a chicken leg. “You’ve not lived the true Brit lifestyle until you leave the club at closing, queue for fifteen minutes in the rain, start chatting up the person next to you about the fucking atrocious weather to pinch a fag off them. And you know what?”

“What?” Jeno asks, swallowing a huge bite of cheesy pepperoni pizza that was sacrilegious to the pizza he had in Naples but was equally as delicious.

“That three quid chicken burger is the dog’s bollocks,” Donghyuck wags his chips at Jeno seriously. “It tastes better than sex. For real! One time, I gave the bloke I was chatting up my chicken burger, and you know what? I will _never_ make that mistake again!”

Jeno almost spits out his food as he laughs, “Bloody hell. You’re such a _lad_. I can’t believe you pulled someone with a £3 burger.”

Donghyuck snorts, “Would you believe that’s not the worst of it? A boy once gave me a blowjob after I spilt a drink on him at the bar.”

Jeno gives him a once over. Even ruddy faced with drink, Donghyuck’s eyes twinkle like stars, reflecting his innate charisma and humour that is just naturally attractive. “What’s it like having pretty privilege?”

“Don’t you even start,” Donghyuck groans, his cheeks endearingly puffy as he struggles to swallow his big bite of Doner kebab. “I don’t even work in M&A and I’ve heard to many people sigh over your fucking eye-smile.” He grumbles huffily, “I can’t believe you have the nerve to say _that_ when you’re like well-fit and so fucking dishy, it’s not even fair. I’m sure people would have gobbled you up in uni if you’d shown an inch of interest. Even now, if you wanted someone, you could totally get it.”

Donghyuck thought _Jeno_ was fit? Jeno didn’t think he was ugly, but no one had ever really paid him much attention. Certainly, he was nothing compared to Donghyuck, who was so stunning that he had all the boys tripping over themselves for him.

Their eyes catch, and Donghyuck glances away, clearing his throat, pink on his cheeks. Jeno stares, unable to look away—is Donghyuck _blushing_? 

“Anyways, so. What’d you think of the food?”

“Hmm?” Jeno murmurs, distracted. “Oh, um. It’s great. I think it tastes delicious because I’m cheating, you know? It’s a little boon I didn’t think I could have.”

“Tell me about it,” Donghyuck responds, polishing off the last slice of pizza. With a wicked smile, he declares, “Nothing tastes better than the forbidden.”

Despite all odds, the two of them are able to finish all of the food, but the post food lethargy kicks in and the thought of working in his office seems highly unappealing.

“I’d offer to make a cuppa, but I’m pretty sure caffeine is a placebo by now,” Donghyuck blinks drowsily.

“I’m pretty sure the fatigue comes from the trans fats and refined sugar from fast food,” Jeno mutters, reciting some online article he read. “It causes a spike of insulin and then a quick comedown, so we’re tired after.”

“Sure, Dr Lee,” Donghyuck teases, standing up to nosy at the fridge and then he makes a triumphant noise. “Aha! You’ll be proud of me, health junkie. Look what I found!”

There’s a punnet of Waitrose British strawberries in his hands, which is healthy enough, but—

“Whipped cream and meringue?” Jeno deadpans. “Kind of defeats the whole _healthy_ purpose, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely not,” Donghyuck denies snootily, cutting the strawberries into small pieces. “Whipped cream is made out of milk and is high in calcium. Meringue is made out of egg whites which is a great source of protein,” he adopts a maternal tone. “I’m looking out for you, pet.”

Jeno jolts but recovers himself after a beat. He goes to break the meringue into chunks as Donghyuck squeezes huge snakes of whipped cream from the can. “I suppose we can conveniently ignore the sugar content of both.”

Donghyuck grins, “I’m glad you see it my way.”

The dish is done as they spoon strawberries mixed in with whipped cream and a generous heaping of crumbled meringue. The beauty of the pudding was that no matter how haphazardly it was thrown together, it still tasted lovely.

“Ah, Eton Mess,” Donghyuck sighs, closing his eyes with his lips wrapped around the spoon in rapture. Jeno wonders absently if this is why people watch Nigella—to see her moan in satisfaction after tasting her food. “The best thing to come out of Jaemin Na’s Godforsaken alma mater.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but Jaemin hates strawberries and cream.”

“That just makes it all the better,” Donghyuck grins brightly. “Eton Mess is a classic British summer pudding.”

Despite feeling like an overstuffed sausage, they’re able to finish the dessert cleanly.

“Oh,” Jeno notices, seeing a stain of white on the corner of Donghyuck’s mouth. “There’s a bit of, eh, cream on your lip.” He indicates the location by pointing to his own mouth, but Donghyuck mirrors him instead of flipping. Jeno pulls his handkerchief from his breast pocket, reaching over the space between them, his left hand cupping Donghyuck’s chin as he uses his right to gently wipe the cream off.

“There,” he says quietly, staring at Donghyuck’s mouth, and watches as his tongue darts out to lick his lips. Jeno swallows involuntarily, taking a step back, his left hand clenching involuntarily from the contact, and feels his cheeks heat up for no discernible reason. “It was on the other side.” He feels the need to justify himself.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck clears his throat, his face flushed. He touches the corner of his mouth, like he still doesn’t quite understand what just happened. “Thanks. I can get a bit messy.” He makes to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Before Jeno even knows, he’s proffering his handkerchief once again to Donghyuck.

“Here,” he says, looking into Donghyuck’s eyes, his hand outstretched, “you can keep it.”

“Mine?” Donghyuck hesitates for a second even as he reaches out to take it, their fingers brushing. “Won’t you miss it? It’s monogrammed.”

“You’ve left your mark already. It’s yours to keep.”

It’s enough to convince him. Donghyuck takes the white pocket square to his face, the dark blue LJN over his mouth as he pats it clean.

“Thanks,” Donghyuck says, pocketing Jeno’s handkerchief into the breast pocket of his suit, pressed against his heart. “It’s kind of apt to wear your suit with your handkerchief.”

“Ah, I thought this might be the one when I heard it was Gieves & Hawkes.”

“Do you like it?” He asks, smoothing his hand over the lapels of the blazer. “I picked it up over the weekend. I thought to channel you today since I had a big hearing at the Royal Courts of Justice.”

“You look good,” Jeno says, the compliment most sincere than he intended.

“Well, thank you again for the birthday gift,” Donghyuck says. “I don’t want to look up how much a made to measure suit at Savile Row’s premier tailor costs. God knows what I’m going to get you for Christmas.”

“You don’t have to get me anything,” Jeno protests. “That’s not why I did it.”

There’s a twist on Donghyuck’s lips as he considers Jeno’s words. Then, he exhales, “Of course you didn’t.” He takes a step back. it’s only then that Jeno realises that they’d been standing so closely by the counter. “It’s kind of stuffy in here,” He says, avoiding Jeno’s eye. “I think some fresh air would do me good.”

“We can go up to the roof garden?” Jeno suggests, taking a step forward.

“At,” Donghyuck pulls out his phone to check the time—Jeno makes a mental note of buying him a watch for Christmas, “two in the morning?”

“No better time to go to the roof garden than 2 a.m. It’s bore witness to many of my breakdowns, as you might attest,” Jeno adds. “It’s also really beautiful at this time of the year. Almost better than Kew Gardens.”

Donghyuck snorts but he acquiesces, and they take the lift up to the rooftop, “That’s a generous statement—are your beer goggles that strong?”

But mere moments after they exit the glass doors, Donghyuck sighs—the sound barely audible from the rustling of the wind—and amends, “Okay, maybe you’re not entirely wrong.”

It’s like they’re in a whole different world. In their steel and glass office, surrounded by the unrelenting frenzy of modernity and measurable output, it’s easy to forget they’re in the beating historic heart of London. This little bit of green, tiny patch of open space, it lives and breathes with vitality, and it beckons like a siren’s song.

They sit in the alcove where they first connected, beneath the Japanese Wisteria tree with dense low hanging branches that drape down like tinsel into clusters of lilac blue flowers. It feels intimate, like the tree is extending its arms out protectively, concealing them from the world, wrapping them in a bubble where only they exist.

“Did the hearing go well?” Jeno asks, looking at Donghyuck, who was backlit by flowers.

“Oh, we won!” Donghyuck perks up. “Even on a very narrow point which I wasn’t sure we would get. I guess you infected me with your success.”

“You earned it on your own merit.”

Donghyuck’s smile blooms across his face and Jeno thinks that he’s far fairer than the flowers behind him.

“I’ve been here for years and I still can’t get over this view,” Donghyuck says, after a moment’s silence. He stares outwards, as if in a trance. “Being here, _working here_. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I always feel like I’m fighting to be recognised, to be seen as worthy. I get so tired sometimes, working so hard but getting nothing back. But looking at this view, it feels dreamlike, and it reminds me that working for this firm is my dream. And I did it, no matter what other people might say. That energises me again and I can keep going.”

Jeno looks out into the distance. The Tower Bridge is lit up in the darkness, the twin bridge towers gleaming golden beneath the light, while the rope-like suspension is a bright blue. The lights of the bridge reflect against the still, dark waters of the River Thames. Right in the middle of the bridge, the coat of arms of the City of London shine—two dragons, one on the left and the right, supporting the shield of St. George.

It is beautiful, Jeno realises, but he had been so accustomed to the sight that he didn’t really look at it. But given Donghyuck’s admiration, he truly gazes at it, and—

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?”

“If you get tired of London, you’re tired of life.”

Jeno doesn’t know if it’s the sleep deprivation or the drinks, but he’s definitely tired and emotional, which is what drives him to confess.

“I was tired of London for a while,” Jeno admits, as the lights play over the curve of Donghyuck’s face. “But with you, I think… I’ve fallen back in love with it.”

It’s late. Shrouded in the dark by the Wisteria tree, even the meagre light from the planter lamps dotted around the garden barely penetrate through, as if there’s a veil surrounding them and everything else—the firm, law, real life responsibilities—it all feels far removed. In the midsummer night, the air is warm and the breeze is cool, and it smells faintly of lavender from the bushes around them.

Donghyuck is looking at him. Donghyuck is… Jeno sees Donghyuck’s face because they’re seated so closely, shoulder to shoulder, thighs pressed against each other.

There’s a gust of wind and the scent of lavender fills the air, and Jeno suddenly feels incredibly sober. All his thoughts distilled down into one singular epiphany.

“Donghyuck.”

Jeno doesn’t think, he only feels, his heart beating steadily and his mind conspicuously clear. He leans forward, closing his eyes at the last moment, until Donghyuck can’t possibly mistake his intentions, and _oh_.

Donghyuck tastes like the sweetest British strawberries, the bright burst of summer, of joy and sunshine. His lips are warm and chapped, a bit rough, but he feels better than the fleeting fantasies he’d ever entertained. It’s Donghyuck who thumbs over Jeno’s cheekbone with his left hand, steering the direction of the kiss, his right hand at the base of Jeno’s neck. It’s Donghyuck who parts his lips, his tongue brushing against the seam of Jeno’s lips, swallowing the gasp that he makes and taking it all.

Donghyuck tastes even sweeter from the source, his tongue hot and slick as it brushes against Jeno’s own, and Jeno feels dizzy. He tastes sweet and sinful, delicious in all the ways that forbidden things are. Jeno is but a man and succumbing to temptation is in his nature, especially when it comes from an alluring face.

Across the River Thames, the majestic St. Paul’s Cathedral looms ahead, the rounded dome lit up and all-seeing across the skyline of the City, the jubilant venue to the charming fairy-tale wedding between Diana and Prince Charles.

The drooping branches of the Wisteria tree rustle with the wind, a quiet song that muffles any noise. Beautiful lilac flowers float down, its arms curved over them in this little pocket of space, out of sight from the church.

**August**

For many, the London Season ends with Cowes Week by Glorious Twelve, whereupon they’ll head back up to the country after five months in London. If they’re lucky, they get to nip back into town in September for the Last Night of the Proms at the Royal Albert Hall, fall asleep to classical pieces until _Rule, Britannia!_ plays, then they’ll wave their Union Jack flags and sing rousingly in fond remembrance of the imperialist days.

Jeno isn’t a white English man, so he doesn’t feel particularly nostalgic about the days when they were _the empire on which the sun never set_. The British brutalised a quarter of the world in their quest to enrich themselves with new markets and farm raw materials. The white saviours to uncivilised barbarians—slave trading, manmade famines, drug pushing, ethnic cleansing… wait, who were the supposed savages again?

Of course, their position of benign imperialist overlord was untenable after the Second World War practically bankrupted the country. Then, there was the anti-colonial movement. Learning from the mistakes of France and Portugal, they adopted _peaceful disengagement_ rather than wage unsuccessful wars to keep their empire financed on American loans. Peaceful being quite the misnomer, considering the Partition of India. They wiped their hands clean of responsibility like a man zipping up his trousers after his one night stand became pregnant.

(There’s some dramatic irony that the country’s premier museum is the Museum of Stolen and Looted Artefacts, also known as the British Museum.)

Anyways, he digresses. Although they’re seen as twins considering their synchronicity, Jeno doesn’t share Jaemin’s pedigree in sailing or shooting. As such, the sailing regatta of Cowes Week holds no appeal to him. Instead, for Jeno, the end of the Season is marked by the SM LLP’s Annual Summer Retreat.

Of the two annual retreats, Jeno much prefers the summer retreat over the winter one. For the winter retreat, the firm rents a chalet from the founder’s family in St. Moritz, an exclusive lakeside Swiss skiing resort which had the honour of hosting the Winter Olympics twice. It’s practically Jaemin’s winter holiday home so he has fond memories there, but Jeno didn’t grow up sailing in the summer and skiing in the winter—it was serving in the summer and studying in the winter, actually—so his skiing ability is decidedly lacklustre. The summer retreat is more fun for him. The Social Committee who plan the excursion choose more exciting locations owing to the fact that the people who attend are younger as the senior lawyers with families ask for leave in August.

This year, the location is Budapest. Jeno hadn’t planned on attending as Jaemin was off sailing in Cowes Week and the retreat took place on Yeeun’s birthday weekend, but… he had been persuaded to go.

“Jeno, your bags are already packed,” Yeeun sighs good-naturedly when Jeno asks for the third time whether she would prefer him staying in London. “You said you would go and you’re a man of your word. We’ve spent so many birthdays together, but you’ve never been to Budapest. You’ve been so stressed at work—I think a holiday would be good for you. Besides, I won’t be completely alone. Elkie is going to come over to celebrate.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Jeno trails off, checking that he has his passport once again.

“I am sure,” She reaches across the dining room table to place her left hand over his to reassure him. Morning light floods through the windows, causing her diamond engagement ring to shine, and Jeno has to avert his eyes from the brightness. “Enjoy yourself in Budapest. You earned it.”

“Alright then,” Jeno moves his hand back to collect their used dishes and brings them into the kitchen to wash. “I hope you have fun with Elkie. She’s one of your co-workers, right?”

“That’s right,” She hums, leaning against the kitchen sink and watching him. “My husband, such a habitual man. After all these years that we have a dishwasher, you still do it by hand. What would it take to make you change your routine?” She teases.

“Oh sorry,” Jeno looks down, only just realising. “It’s too ingrained in me, these habits are hard to kick.”

Yeeun smiles fondly, patting his shoulder, “Never change, Jeno.”

The doorbell chimes just as Jeno finishes washing the last plate. He hears his wife’s excited squeal as she greets her guest. Quickly, he dries his hands on a towel and walks towards the foyer.

“Oh, Jeno,” Yeeun turns around, smiling brightly. Her left hand clutches a bouquet of red tulips—her favourite flowers—while her right is around the elbow of a beautiful dark-haired woman in a bold leopard print dress. “Have you met Elkie? We work together in CLC. Elkie, meet Jeno.”

Elkie extends her hand for Jeno to shake. “At long last, I finally meet Yeeun’s fabled husband, the Jeno Lee.” Her red lips stretch into a smile. “I almost thought Yeeun was lying when she said she was married.”

Jeno laughs politely, shaking Elkie’s hand, pale delicate fingers that belie her firm grip. She has short red varnished nails—the same shade as her lipstick—but no ring.

“The perils of the job, I’m afraid.”

Elkie pats Yeeun’s arm, “You should put those in a vase before they wilt. I’ve been on the tube for half an hour and God knows the summer heat leeches all the moisture dry.”

Yeeun glances between them unsurely, always the consummate hostess, but she does as Elkie says.

“Your wife mentioned that you’re going on a trip over _this_ weekend?”

Jeno clears his throat uncomfortably. Despite Elkie’s smile, he senses her disapproval. “I’m afraid I’m a bit of a bore. I’m sure Yeeun will have more fun with you and the rest of her friends.” He spots Elkie’s overnight bag. “I’m glad she’s not alone. Please take care of her on her birthday.”

Elkie smiles, pretty as a picture, “I will. And I always do.”

Yeeun returns and Jeno takes the chance to escape. “Well then, my Uber should be here any minute,” he says, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and grabbing his small carry-on suitcase.

“Of course,” Yeeun smiles at him and Elkie wordlessly moves to open the door. “Have a safe flight, Jeno.”

“Happy birthday, Yeeun,” he says, stepping out the door.

“Thank you,” she says.

She leans forward towards him, so Jeno automatically leans down to kiss her goodbye, but her hands press against his chest and his mouth brushes against her nose.

“Oh!” she exclaims, blinking, and Jeno flushes in embarrassment over the miss. “Sorry, I was just—there was a spare thread on your shirt, see?” She shows him the tiny thread and blows it away.

“Ah, sorry, I—” Jeno clears his throat, glancing to see Elkie looking at them, and then spots the Uber car coming down the road. “I should go.” He says in a louder voice, “Hope you ladies have fun.”

Elkie waves, “We will!”

Jeno confirms his name with the driver and places his suitcase into the boot of the Toyota Prius, and then the car is speeding off to London City Airport. He still feels embarrassed over the kiss mishap with Yeeun, but he forgets all about it when he checks his phone to see a selfie from Donghyuck posing with his luggage.

Soon enough, he’s on the aeroplane, a glass of champagne in hand and watching amusedly as his seat neighbour snaps selfie after selfie.

“Kindly keep your judgement to yourself, sir,” Donghyuck says with his best downstairs Downton Abbey impression. “Unlike some people, I’m not used to taking chartered flights. This might be the only time I ever get to fly on a private plane! Last year, we took the Eurostar to Amsterdam. I mean I’m not complaining, free holiday is free holiday and I had a _relaxing_ time. But Yerim really stepped it up since she headed Socials.”

“I think she’s really regretting taking up the position now,” Jeno says, watching as an air hostess directs the Employment lawyer to her seat so the plane can take-off, all the while she argues with someone on the phone with a stressed expression.

“Ah that,” Donghyuck laughs quietly beneath his breath, looking around even though it’s just them sitting in this row. He leans close to whisper, his lips touching the shell of Jeno’s ear, causing him to shiver, “Have you seen Doyoung? He brought a _friend_ and Yerim didn’t know until they arrived at the airport.”

Jeno’s eyes widen and he looks around, trying to spot his supervisor, but Donghyuck clamps a hand on his wrist telling him to stop. Jeno whispers back at him, “This is a work retreat! No one brings their significant others! I didn’t even know Doyoung was coming, he usually never does.”

Donghyuck laughs quietly, “Well, his guest isn’t completely unfamiliar to the firm. He’s certainly worked with us enough that some would see him as part of it?” Seeing Jeno’s bemused expression, Donghyuck finally reveals, “Doyoung brought Yuta.”

Jeno’s jaw drops as the plane gets off the runway. “He brought his _divorce lawyer_ to the retreat?”

Amusedly, Donghyuck adds, “Jaehyun’s here.”

The two of them trade knowing looks, because that explains everything.

“Doyoung must still be angry that Jaehyun made Equity Partner before him if he brought Yuta here.”

“Jaehyun’s face was a thundercloud when he saw Yuta and Doyoung swanning in together,” Donghyuck says. “What could be more infuriating than seeing your greatest rival with the person you’ve been in love with years. It’s not even Jaehyun’s fault he made Equity Partner before Doyoung—blame the board for that.”

“Pretty sure Doyoung thinks it’s nepotism,” Jeno points out. “But he’s definitely furious if he’s bringing in Yuta. I’m not sure if Doyoung likes Yuta. I’m not even sure if Doyoung is capable of liking a person. Both his ex-husband and ex-wife had nothing nice to say about him.”

“Doyoung finds Yuta amusing and tolerable in small doses, which is more favourable than he feels for 99% of the world’s population. He also likes Yuta’s greatest quality—that Jaehyun becomes a simpleton for him. He’ll endure a lot just to humiliate Jaehyun,” Donghyuck sighs. “I feel kind of bad for Jaehyun though…”

“It’s been years—perhaps he should consider moving on? Yuta doesn’t seem to feel the same way.”

“But that’s the thing,” Donghyuck leans forward earnestly. “Did you know that they once had a thing back in Cambridge? Jaehyun, the silly St. John’s boy, fell for Yuta, who was in King’s. God, it’s a story for the ages. Except Yuta doesn’t believe in relationships or monogamy and has a thing against silver spoons—he is from King’s, after all. They had a fling until Yuta met a nerd from Trinity College and induced the rivalry of the decade.”

That’s a level of detail that Jeno doesn’t even know and he’s been in the firm for almost a decade. Suddenly, he recalls that Jaemin had said Jaehyun and Donghyuck were once involved. How close are they that Donghyuck knows this much personal detail about Jaehyun? Any sympathy he had for him abruptly dissipates after that.

“It was just a fling. Isn’t twenty years long enough for someone to move on?”

Donghyuck looks him in the eye, “Some people are in your lives for a short spell of time but they irreversibly change you so much that time cannot erase their stain.”

In two hours and thirty minutes, they’re greeted by sunny skies, a complete departure from the English summer rain that had drizzled on and off for the past week in London.

A slim, suited smiling young woman wearing an impressive pair of stilettos stands at Arrivals with a sign bearing Yerim’s name. After introductions, she escorts them outside to a fleet of handsome Mercedes where the significantly less smiley but equally sharply suited chauffeurs load up their luggage.

Factoring in the one-hour forward time difference—Budapest is on Central European Time, like the majority of Europe, unlike the UK (and Ireland) whose time zone is Greenwich Mean Time +0 (the _true time_ )—it’s approaching five p.m. as they approach their hotel, their eyes glued to the window as the drive along the Danube River, getting a glimpse of the spectacular Gellert Hill and the Old World charm of historic Buda.

Before they can fully admire the outside of the hotel with its beautiful Art-Nouveau stone façade and godly statues, incredible columns and arches, they’re welcomed into the Gresham Palace Four Seasons by handsomely liveried footmen. It’s a palatial hotel with cream mosaic floors that have a pattern of dark green swirls, stained-glass windows and elegant floral arrangements in the lobby. The most impressive sight is undoubtedly the glass cupola by the reception, where a stunning glass chandelier with spiky glass shards that look like frost-covered leaves and a peacock decorates the black-iron gate.

Yerim’s awed expression doesn’t last. While the group—twenty-five odd so people—look around and gaze at the pieces of Hungarian art adorning the walls, she goes to check in. The expression on her face as she comes back holding several room keys is decidedly irritated.

“What is the fucking point of booking posh hotels that cost £800 a night if they’re going to overbook me? I did it on the company card and I expressly name dropped the firm,” she grouses, sorting through her key cards as they gather around her. “I fucking hate high season and I bloody hate hotels who overbook their rooms.”

Jeno’s back tingles and he gets a fluttery feeling in his stomach because he has an idea where this is leading up.

“Alright, you guys don’t want to hear me complain, though I did get us free breakfast plus vouchers for spa and restaurant, but ugh,” Yerim rolls her eyes. “I suppose in the spirit of this being a summer work retreat, we’re really getting to know each other.” She sounds utterly unenthused. “I won’t faff around anymore, you know the deal. Any kind members of staff who had single rooms that would like to volunteer and earn my gratitude?”

Doyoung, still wearing a suit and tie despite being on holiday, steps forward. “I can’t in good conscience take a suite while making our junior staff share.” He smiles benevolently while Jaehyun glowers at him.

As a Senior Associate, Jeno had been promised a solo room. Donghyuck, via being Yerim’s friend, was able to get a single too. He feels Donghyuck’s eyes on him, silently inquiring, and he looks back, nodding.

“I’ll share with Donghyuck,” Jeno says, valiantly trying to keep his voice casual as his heart pounds.

“Oh, thank God,” Yerim smiles tiredly at him, beckoning him over to get his room key. As she sorts through the various sets, she mutters, “Thanks for volunteering. There’s a lot of young trainees so I don’t want to mix genders and hierarchies— I don’t want HR up my arse because of inappropriate relations. You’re married, so...”

_You’re married so no one thinks anything of you sharing a room with Donghyuck._

“Of course,” Jeno tries to smile, his fingers curling around the surprisingly heavy room key, half afraid that Yerim is going to snatch it back and half wishing that she would. “Anything to help.”

Was this what Eve felt when she took the apple from the Garden of Eden?

After they receive their key they take the lift upstairs, bidding goodbye to the others when they get to their room. Jeno has just taken two steps into the room, Donghyuck at the rear with their luggage, when he halts.

Donghyuck bumps into his back, “What’s wrong—oh.”

“When they said share, they really meant it, huh?” Donghyuck brushes past him. “Well, we took one for the team. Imagine if some poor trainee from Real Estate had to sleep on the same bed as Jaehyun? Awkward.”

Their room is classically elegant with polished dark-wood Art Deco furniture with beige and sea-foam green upholstery. The white walls and large French windows create a bright and airy ambiance, complete with a step-out balcony. However, the most eye-catching feature of the room is undoubtedly the king bed in the middle of the room with a fluffy white duvet and down pillows.

He’s going to _share_ a bed with Donghyuck. He’s going to lie on a flat surface with Donghyuck, which means he’s going to be able to touch his hair, kiss his face, hold him, touch him and—

Jeno cuts himself off. Best not to think about that.

“Well, I’m going to get freshened up,” Donghyuck announces, touching Jeno’s arm casually to get his attention. “Yerim mentioned on the group chat that she made reservations for dinner at six.”

“Alright,” Even as Donghyuck leaves for the toilet, Jeno stands stock still like he’s immobilised, his arm tingling from where Donghyuck had touched him. It’s just his unfamiliarity with skin-on-skin contact; he’s neither a kissy European or a pretentious Englishman, or worse, a huggy American. Additional exposure to touch would reduce the effect Donghyuck had on him.

He needs some air. He pushes open the doors of the balcony, stepping outside. The hotel is located by the Danube River, directly in front of the famous Szechenyi Chain Bridge. Just across is hilly Buda, the medieval Old Town, and he can see the turrets of Fisherman’s Bastion and Buda Castle.

“Stunning view, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jeno resolutely stares forward, trying not to think about what happened the last time he had admired a view with Donghyuck. “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“If the bridge looks familiar, it’s because it was built by the same architect who designed Hammersmith Bridge. The Szechenyi Bridge was blown up by the Germans in 1945 to an attempt to stop the Soviet troops from crossing the Danube River to take over Budapest. As history attests, they failed.”

“You know your history well.”

“Ought I be offended by the tone of surprise?” Donghyuck murmurs, and then he laughs quietly. “I read about it in the hotel lobby. But the point stands—those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

Jeno has nothing to say to that. It feels like a warning, but to whom, he’s not sure.

Donghyuck continues, “It’s called Gresham Palace, but it was never a palace. The Gresham Life Assurance Society, a London insurance company, commissioned the building. After World War Two, it was used as a billet for Soviet soldiers, and then this place was derelict for a few decades under Communist rule. It seems rather a waste that something so beautiful is left unattended and uncared for.”

“You are a purveyor of fine and beautiful things.”

“I certainly do have an appreciation of beautiful things.”

Something in Donghyuck’s tone makes him turn, and Jeno swallows at the intensity of his eyes as he drags his eyes up and down, his implication obvious.

“Well…” Jeno doesn’t even know what they’re talking about, his thoughts completely scattered.

All he knows is that he can’t take his eyes off of Donghyuck, and he’s coming closer and closer, until Jeno’s back digs into the iron of the railing and he’s caged in by Donghyuck’s body.

Jeno is drawn to Donghyuck’s lips, pink and shiny as his tongue darts out to lick it under Jeno’s scrutiny, but he doesn’t do anything, just silently driving Jeno mad.

“Hyuck,” he breathes. He closes his eyes as Donghyuck leans forward, and—

_Ring, ring!_

His phone dings and vibrates in his pocket, surprising him so much that he pushes Donghyuck back. His heart pounds in fear; he was about to throw caution to the wind, to kiss Donghyuck on the balcony in full view of all the tourists a stone’s throw away.

It’s a call from Yerim. He picks up, trying to calm his shaking heartbeat. She asks if they’re going to come down for dinner, sounding annoyed.

“Yeah,” he answers, his voice shaky. He clears his throat, “Yeah, we’re coming down now. Sorry for making you wait. I was, I was uhm, distracted by the view.”

When he hangs up, Donghyuck is a respectable distance away, his face unreadable. He turns on his heel, walking towards the door, “We should get going.”

They don’t get a chance to talk—not that Jeno knows what to say—because as soon as they step into the hotel hallway they bump into Jaehyun. Donghyuck beams, immediately asking about his day, and they chitchat all the way down the lift until they get to the restaurant.

Jeno doesn’t get to sit next to Donghyuck. Upon spotting him Doyoung waves him over, and Donghyuck takes a seat next to Jaehyun instead, continuing their conversation from the lift. Considering the rivalry between their companions, there’s a wide berth of people between them, and Jeno gets lumped in with Doyoung and Yuta.

“You’ve met Yuta before, right?” Doyoung asks, scanning through the extensive wine menu. “If not—well Jeno, meet Yuta Nakamato, the enemy of all gold-diggers. Yuta, meet Jeno Lee, he works with me in M&A.”

“Ah, I feel sorry for you,” Yuta says as he shakes Jeno’s hand, “seeing Doyoung’s ugly mug every single day is bad enough, but working under him? You’re a tough lad.”

“Thank you,” Jeno replies, smiling politely and looking Yuta over. If he hadn’t known that Yuta was a lawyer, he’d never have guessed it. Doyoung looks every inch the lawyer in his suit, but Yuta dresses like a rockstar. His long wavy red hair is tied back in a little ponytail and he has a bevy of sparkly earrings. He wears a dark sheer patterned blouse that dips low to reveal a gold necklace and leather trouser. All together it forms a _look_. “We’ve met before.”

“Oh yeah,” Yuta replies cheerfully, racking a hand through his hair. “I did your prenup, didn’t I?”

Jeno blinks, “You have a good memory. It was five years ago, I didn’t think you remembered.”

“Yeah nah, that’s a lie,” Yuta laughs, pointing at Jeno’s left hand. “I saw your ring and figured since you work under Doyoung he’d have pointed you my way. In my experience, marriages of M&A lawyers don’t last.”

Jeno shifts uncomfortably, feeling the sting of Yuta’s words, and twists the band around his ring finger. Unconsciously, he glances over to Donghyuck—half a table down from him—who’s still chatting with Jaehyun.

“Shut your trap, Yuta,” Doyoung says mildly. “Jeno’s an angel. If there’s any hope for love, it’s him. Not all M&A lawyers have short marriages.”

“You mean not everyone is a cold-hearted miser like you.” Yuta shakes his head, smiling all the while. “To this date, I think my best work is the financial consequence of your divorce with your ex-wife.”

The server’s arrival makes Jeno realise that he hasn’t even glanced at the menu. He looks down, arbitrarily ordering the foie gras terrine, goulash soup and pork cheek stew—Hungarian cuisine is certainly meat heavy.

“I thought prenups weren’t binding in England & Wales,” Jeno says after the sommelier poured them a red wine that Doyoung had personally approved of.

Yuta nods, “Correct. In _Radmacher v Granatino,_ the court only needs to give effect to a prenup freely entered into by each party with a full appreciation of its implications unless in the circumstances prevailing it would be unfair to hold the parties to their agreement. The mere existence of a prenup doesn’t exclude the court’s discretion to apply section 25 of the Matrimonial Causes Act 1973 in determining the division of assets.”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” Jeno looks at Doyoung, who looks utterly unconcerned as he drinks his second glass of wine while eating bread dipped in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. “If I’m correct in my interpretation that you got Doyoung to give less to his ex-wife than he should have—which is how you did your best work—but if the prenup fulfills the _Radmacher_ criteria, how could it be unfair?”

“Ah, a corporate lawyer through and through,” Yuta sighs. “Family law is different from commercial law in that there’s much less rigidity because people are not one size fits all. It’s undesirable to lay down rules that could fetter the flexibility needed to reach a fair result. The starting point of the division of assets is the ‘yardstick of equality’ in _White v White_ which states fairness is the overriding criteria.”

“So she should have gotten half?” Jeno asks, causing Doyoung to snort in consternation. He becomes distracted when their food arrives and digs into the warm, beefy goulash soup.

Yuta shakes his head, “That’s the starting point but we consider fairness from needs, compensation and sharing in _Miller; McFarlane_. Needs is the most important factor because in most cases there is no surplus income, but Doyoung has big money. Compensation is if one spouse—usually the wife—gave up their job to raise the children so the other could focus on their job. Because there should be no bias between the homemaker and money earner. But it’s rare and the loss of opportunity is difficult to quantify. Sharing is a principle where equal division should only be departed when there is good reason to do so, like the acquisition of pre-acquired assets.”

“Their facts are very similar to _Miller_ , to be honest. Their marriage was short at five years, they had no issue, but he earned a significant amount of money during the marriage. Without a prenup, Dons’ long-suffering spouse would have gotten around £3 million. With the prenup, she ended up with 300,000. It covered her needs, compensation was irrelevant, but I was quite surprised by the ruling of sharing. Unless the individual is exceptional, _Charman v Charman_ makes it unusual to depart far from sharing. Doyoung isn’t Paul McCartney where he made the bulk of his fortune before he met his ex-wife, so I thought it was a special case.”

It’s all enough to make Jeno’s head spin—and it’s not because he’s had three glasses of wine. A five-year, childless marriage where one spouse was a significantly higher earner… was Yuta talking about Doyoung or him? But Jeno doesn’t want to think about divorce. He doesn’t want to be another statistic, another workaholic lawyer with a broken marriage. He wants to be the glittering exception, the golden successful story.

“You’re doing the boy’s head in,” Doyoung says lazily, leaning his head on Yuta’s shoulder, smiling up at him with flushed cheeks. “You know most people don’t think divorce is a socially acceptable dinner topic, right?”

“Ah, sorry about that,” Yuta says unrepentantly, grinning down at Doyoung. “People always get so scared when they hear I’m a divorce lawyer. They treat _me_ as a social pariah when tax lawyers exist. The nerve.”

“Right,” Jeno tries to smile, though he’s sure they have probably forgotten Jeno’s right there in front of them.

He drinks the rest of his wine and gets a top up. When he places his glass down, he finds that Donghyuck is already looking at him and—upon making eye contact with Jeno—he quickly looks away.

 _Cute_ , Jeno thinks. Donghyuck is so damn cute.

After they finish dinner, they leave the restaurant, following Yerim like a line of ducks as they head towards the pier for the river cruise. Yuta and Doyoung are bickering something fierce so they don’t even notice when Jeno slips away to talk to Donghyuck.

“You alright?”

Donghyuck, for some unfathomable reason, looks surprised to see him. “Oh, hi. Yeah, you?” He sounds rather awkward and he seems to realise it, scratching the back of his neck and smiling sheepishly.

“I’m alright. Did you like dinner?”

“Meh, it’s alright,” he replies, wrinkling his nose cutely. “Jaehyun spent the entire time mooning over Yuta and complaining about Doyoung, so I’ve had better. And you?”

Jeno feels bad that it makes him happy, so he resolves not to think about it. They walk down a flight of stairs from street level to the pier, passing boat after boat moored to the pier side.

“Dinner was fine. Yuta and Doyoung are quite a sight to see together. They’ve a strange dynamic, but interesting nonetheless. I still can’t be sure whether they actually like each other.”

“Relationships can be complicated,” Donghyuck remarks.

Before Jeno can reply, Yerim stops by a boat and shake hands with the captain, indicating for them to come onboard. They’re greeted by a team of smartly dressed crew members, and he accepts a flute of champagne.

“Wow, not that I had any reservations considering this is a Four Seasons yacht, but this is really beautiful,” Donghyuck says, craning his head around as they walk further in. “I’ve always wanted to be on a yacht before.”

The beautiful white yacht has a polished wooden hull, spacious enough for the thirty of them to walk around comfortably, with lovely cream coloured leather seats. The two of them migrate to the deck of the yacht, enjoying the last vestiges of the evening sun before it sets.

“You’ve never been on a yacht before?” Jeno asks, sipping his champagne slowly. “Jaemin’s brought me a few times. He enjoys sailing in the South of France.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t all be friends with Jaemin Na,” Donghyuck says wryly. “I’ve been on public ferries before, but private river cruises like this? Never.”

“Well then,” Jeno raises his flute of champagne to Donghyuck. “Here’s to new experiences.”

“There’s a lot of firsts today,” Donghyuck chimes in. “I propose a toast. To us.”

“To our good health.” Jeno adds.

“To happiness.”

“To experiencing all the pleasures of life.”

“Cheers!”

They clink glasses and drink. The champagne is perfect, ephemeral and bubbly, a bright burst of cold and crisp that dances over his tongue. Donghyuck grins at him and he can’t help but return it.

The church bells ring in the background. It’s a clear, round sound that reverberates, unable to be muffled despite the noise of the crowd and the rumbling of the yacht’s engine. Jeno glances around—he can’t see the church, but he can hear it, hear the call to Mass, to pray to the Lord. The bell is a reminder that God has all seeing eyes.

“It must be eight. The cruise must start soon. We should take our seats,” Jeno says.

The tour guide welcomes them onboard, giving them an introduction to the city. Jeno gets a top up of champagne, though he drinks too quickly and the bubbles burn like fireworks.

The yacht sails along the Danube River at a leisurely pace. He smiles as he hears Donghyuck hum out the melody of The Blue Danube by Strauss, a waltz most apt to describe the gentle and tranquil river.

Many times, Jeno had taken to punting on the River Cherwell in Oxford to clear his mind. The physical act of using a pole to propel the punt by pushing it against the riverbed over and over again—hearing the swoosh of the water as the boat glided through it—was cathartic. When he saw the beautiful and imposing colleges pass by, he always gained perspective. These colleges had been here for centuries, near a millennium, and they were witnesses of history. Jeno was just one person, existing for a transient moment and snuffed out in the next.

And yet, being here now on the Danube River, surrounded by historical monuments—Buda Castle, the massive stately Baroque palace once home to the sprawling Hapsburg dynasty—he doesn’t think he’s an imposter in the midst of the greatest heist of his life.

Instead, he feels the warmth of the night, the scent of the river, and _feels_ conspicuously alive in the moment.

The tour guide continues to point out many of the important locations—the Statue of Liberty rising high on the Citadella fortress perched atop the Gellert Hill, the seven turrets for the seven tribes which founded Hungary at the fairy-tale looking Fisherman’s Bastion, the stout Gothic Matthias Church right next to it…

When they sail past the Hungarian Parliament Building, Donghyuck lets out an audible gasp.

In the sunset, the sky is painted in warm tones of pink and soft oranges, resembling something from a Monet painting. The red domes of the building jut into the sky, striking but complimentary at the same time. The immense Gothic Revival building is softened and made romantic in the dying, shimmering light. It almost seems to float on the river, a mirage most beautiful and utterly unforgettable.

“God, it’s _beautiful_ ,” Donghyuck breathes, instinctively clutching Jeno’s hand. “Look at it.”

“I am.” Jeno says, gazing down at Donghyuck, at his awestruck expression, at how the light seems to bless his face. How enchanting, how lovely, how beautiful he is… Jeno is looking.

“I can’t take my eyes away.”

“The Hungarian architect Imre Steindl who designed it was inspired by the Houses of Parliament in Westminster. The Hungarian Parliament Building is the largest building in Hungary. It is 96 metres tall, the same height as St Stephen’s Basilica to symbolise the balance of the church and the state in Hungary,” the tour guide says. “Sadly, Imre Steindl became blind and passed away before construction finished in 1904.”

“God—imagine devoting your life to a work and you never end up seeing its completion.” Jeno comments.

Donghyuck takes a moment to think. When he answers, his voice is thoughtful and tentative, “Not everything has to be actualised. The end is not more than the process. I think… I think it might be enough to know that it happened, that you’d given everything and tried your best. I think that would be enough for me.”

Jeno tries to imagine not realising the end, not meeting the goal—he can’t. He can’t imagine being Steindl and not seeing his life’s work. He can’t think of being Beethoven and not hearing his compositions. He can’t put himself as Monet and not see his paintings.

All his life, in rightful exchange for his hard work, Jeno has only known success. He can’t think of giving his all and not seeing the end result, because what would be the point? To give your all and not have it returned—what would be the purpose of all that labour and effort?

The yacht finally turns back around as the sun sets, submerging the city in a blanket of darkness if not for the glow of the lights. The Hungarian Parliament Building is illuminated with warm yellow lights which reflect against the inky waters, glistening in the mirror of the dark water, creating golden patterns that hypnotise and mesmerise him, making him unable to look away.

Maybe these great historical figures were able to do it because they knew their legacy would live on in people’s memory. Their hard work and struggle would not be in vain if someone remembered them, if they would be immortalised in people’s hearts.

Even after they get back to the hotel, Jeno still feels transfixed, as if he’s been cast under a spell. Donghyuck says that he’ll shower first and he makes a noise of assent. When walks out to the balcony; the Szechenyi Bridge is lit up with bulbs of yellow strung together like a line of pearls, and they glitter like fireflies.

He doesn’t know how long he spends on the balcony before he turns around, only to nearly get a heart attack, because:

Jeno can see Donghyuck showering.

Okay, that’s a bit of a misnomer. Jeno sees the lean lines of Donghyuck’s figure in soft diffused focus, the shape of his body through the semi-transparent glass wall between the shower and the bedroom.

Jeno immediately rips his eyes away, his heart thudding and his cheeks flooding with heat, not wishing to intrude upon Donghyuck’s privacy. He feels like an utter imbecile. How could he not have noticed that the wall was made of glass? But in Jeno’s admittedly limited defence, the bathing facilities were in a separate alcove to the toilet, and he was more _preoccupied_ with other things than to check out the shower. In the daytime, the wall looked a solid light murky blue.

He curses himself for the lack of forethought now. It was barely a second, but the image of Donghyuck’s body is tattooed on his mind. The shadow of Donghyuck’s body, the long lean length of his legs, the way his head had been tipped up to the showerhead …

Jeno didn’t see that much but it was like he was playing fill in the blanks of everything he didn’t get to see. It was almost more suggestive and torturous to see Donghyuck's shadow than his entire body, because now he was picturing all that he couldn’t see. He couldn’t see Donghyuck’s expression, so Jeno’s brain made him think his face would be slack in bliss, a steady stream of water dripping down his chest, and _oh God_.

Donghyuck has a smattering of moles across his face, it’s no stretch of imagination to think that there would be some dotted on his chest, his back, his hips, and—

No, no, no. These are bad thoughts, Jeno ought to stop, he—

Apparently, the places where one has moles are the parts where a lover in a past life kissed the most. If so, then Donghyuck must have been well-loved; kissed all over his cheeks, down the length of his neck, perhaps over—

“You alright?”

Jeno’s head almost snaps off his neck from the haste that he turns to look at Donghyuck. He’s thankful for the small mercies in life that Donghyuck is wrapped in a nice thick terry robe that conceals his figure.

“Yes,” he squeaks in a high-pitched voice, determinedly not looking Donghyuck’s way a second more as he goes to his suitcase to get his things.

Too bad Donghyuck doesn’t seem to get the memo, because he strides into Jeno’s space, placing a hand on Jeno’s cheek and leans in.

“What- what are you doing?” he asks, glancing at Donghyuck and away, half wanting to lean into his touch and half feeling like he’s going to jump out of his skin.

Donghyuck stares at him puzzledly, “You’re awfully flushed and jumpy. Did you drink more while I was in the shower? That’s very naughty. In this room, we share everything.”

“No!” he lowers his voice, realising that he shouldn’t shout when Donghyuck is a breath away. “No, I haven’t drunk anymore after the two glasses of champagne on the yacht. I’m practically sober.”

Donghyuck tilts his head, taking a deep breath, as if he’s smelling the truth of Jeno’s words. Finally, he lets go of him, believing his words. With an amused smile, he asks, “Then why are you so red then?”

“I—” Jeno is a spectacularly bad liar. “I’m going to go shower now.” He grabs his bag of toiletries and flees to the shower, his heart pounding.

He divests of his clothing, too on edge to fold it neatly like he would usually, and jumps into the shower. The water from the rainfall shower pours over him, soaking him in seconds, and yet he feels like he’s stoked in flames. He glances down at himself and feels a flicker of embarrassment at his predicament.

For God’s sake, he’s _thirty_ , not thirteen. He should not be remotely stirred by the proximity of an attractive person. He almost goes to grasp himself; in fact, his hands just graze past his V-line beneath his abdomen when he remembers that the wall is not solid and any repetitive arm jerking movement is highly suspicious should Donghyuck casually glance over. The thought is enough to add a spike of heat down his belly. With a frustrated groan that’s muffled by the sound of the pouring water, he goes to wash himself.

He’s just about to grab his shampoo when he sees that Donghyuck didn’t pack away his toiletries, probably because it was convenient to leave it out when they were staying for another two days. Through no thought of his own, he reaches to smell Donghyuck’s shampoo—just out of academic curiosity—and he exhales deeply. It’s an unmistakably masculine scent, a warm and earthy combination of vetiver and vanilla.

Jeno can’t resist; he goes to use his products, but that’s only because Donghyuck has such nice thick hair and he always smells divine—not that he’s sniffing him like a puppy, it’s just that Donghyuck has an incredible scent and Jeno can’t help but notice. Since he’s already using Donghyuck’s shampoo, Jeno might as well try out his matching conditioner and body wash for the full effect.

He tries not to think about the intimacy of smelling exactly like Donghyuck. He wonders if Donghyuck would notice when he climbs in bed with him tonight that Jeno shares his scent. Does he know what Jeno smells like? Does he ever go into a perfume shop and smell the scent of his cologne?

Jeno switches the water temperature, shuddering at the blast of cold before he steps out of the shower onto the fluffy foot mat and wraps a large warm towel around himself.

That’s when he realises he fucked up.

He didn’t bring his clothes in with him. Jeno had been so preoccupied trying to escape Donghyuck’s queries that he didn’t actually take his pyjamas with him to the bathroom, only the toiletries that he didn’t end up using. As Jeno brushes his teeth, he ponders whether he should come out with the clothes he’d worn today but discards the thought quickly. They were dirty and Donghyuck would surely think he was weird for that…

Just then, his eyes catch on something which makes him choke on air. It’s Donghyuck briefs sitting innocuously on the floor. His mind travels back—he was pretty sure he saw Donghyuck leave the shower with his worn clothes in hand, so why were his briefs here? 

He flashbacks to Donghyuck’s smile as he leaned over to check on Jeno, the sash of his robe gaping open as Jeno valiantly tried to keep his eyes up. He thinks of how Donghyuck made no mention of the semi-sheer wall. Just a few hours earlier, Donghyuck even caged him against the balcony and they’d almost kissed.

The air whooshes out of Jeno as he finally connects the dots.

_Does Donghyuck want Jeno?_

And then more importantly—

_What is Jeno going to do about it?_

Jeno stares at himself in the mirror like his reflection would know what to do. He runs a hand through his damp brown hair when a glimpse of shine catches his eye.

It’s his wedding band.

He blinks.

His ring finger is free.

He inspects his hand. There’s no mark, no imprint from regular wear of the ring. The wedding band had been a poor fit, a size too big for him. He had always meant to fix it, but he didn’t have the time.

Once he puts the ring in his bag of toiletries, he feels his heart calm, like all his dilemmas melt away, as if he’s become a different person. This is a work trip, after all. When he’s at work, he doesn’t wear his wedding ring. He becomes Jeno Lee, youngest Senior Associate in the M&A department of SM LLP. Respected by his clients, liked by his superiors, and admired by his colleagues.

He securely fastens the towel around his hips, gives himself a final onceover in the mirror, and leaves the warmth of the shower.

Somehow, he’s not surprised that Donghyuck is still wearing his robe, one leg crossed over the other as he lounges on the easy chair while texting on his phone.

Conversely, Donghyuck _is_ so surprised by his arrival that he drops his phone onto the parquet floor with a loud clatter. He doesn’t pick it up.

_Jeno does._

He walks slowly over to Donghyuck. Then, right in front of him, he leans down to pick up his iPhone—mentally noting that he should get him a new one considering the amount of cracks on it—and places it in Donghyuck’s slack hands, wrapping his fingers around the device.

Donghyuck’s eyes are huge, pink creeping up his cheeks as he stares at Jeno, his lips slightly parted.

Jeno can’t say he’s not enjoying it, even though his heart is pounding furiously in his chest.

“You dropped something,” Jeno says quietly.

“So it seems,” Donghyuck swallows hard, snapping his mouth shut. His eyes rake down Jeno’s body in a way that made him feel secretly pleased. All those hours in the gym are worth it to see Donghyuck’s reaction.

“You’re- you have abs?” Donghyuck seems to realise that he’s asked a question and corrects himself. “You have abs.” He states firmly.

Jeno tilts his head, smiling mildly, “Yes. Do you want to feel?”

Donghyuck’s eyes bug out. It would be comic if Jeno wasn’t deadly serious about the proposition. Donghyuck is at perfect eye level to Jeno’s waist, his eyes right in front of the knot of Jeno’s towel.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Jeno Lee,” Donghyuck warns, though the glint in his eye tells Jeno that he’s enjoying it. “Do you think I won’t?”

“I don’t doubt your ability to win games. But am I not a man of my word? Would I offer if I were not serious?”

This seems to snap Donghyuck’s composure, because he hisses “Fuck you” as he stands up, grabs Jeno close to him by the knot on his towel and kisses him.

Jeno gasps, relief overcoming him at the confirmation that it’s not all in his head—that Donghyuck wants him as much as he does, that Donghyuck seems as desperate to kiss him as Jeno had done for the past month. He throws his arms around Donghyuck’s neck to bring them closer, one hand fisting the ends of Donghyuck’s distressingly dashing long hair, causing him to whine.

“God, Jeno Lee.” If Donghyuck was trying to sound angry, he was failing badly. “Damn you.”

Jeno doesn’t get the time to attempt a witty response as Donghyuck tilts Jeno’s head, pressing his lips to the column of Jeno’s throat, nosing up and down in a way that’s just shy of ticklish. Donghyuck chuckles when Jeno makes a noise of complaint, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of his neck, and then he starts to press open mouth kisses to Jeno’s neck.

“Ah,” Jeno breathes, trying to control his sounds and not succeeding much. “No marks. We- we have to go to the thermal pools tomorrow.”

“Ugh” Donghyuck moves his head to where the base of Jeno’s neck meets his shoulder. He briefly nips him there before soothing the wound with his tongue. “Okay. But I just think you’d look so pretty with the shape of my mouth on you.”

“Fuck.” Jeno curses, closing his eyes at the mental image. He’d never had a love bite before because it seemed unprofessional and juvenile to have it. But somehow the thought of having Donghyuck’s marks on him is thrilling. Just having Donghyuck’s lips on him, licking and biting and sucking, sends blood down south.

“You like?” Donghyuck asks, in between suckling a kiss just under his Adam’s apple, his teeth just grazing over it before pressing a kiss with the fullness of his lips over it rather tenderly.

“Don’t ask inane questions,” Jeno says, pulling Donghyuck back up by the lapels of his robe and crushing his lips back to him, pouring all his want into it.

It feels different to kiss a man. Yeeun had softer lips and smooth skin; Donghyuck’s lips are warm but chapped, and although he’s clean-shaven, there’s a bit of stubble on his chin that brushes against his jaw. It’s different but nice— _very nice_. Especially when Donghyuck trails his hands along the bare skin of Jeno’s back, his fingertips curving along his spine, and Jeno arches his back, greedy for more skin-on-skin contact.

“Can I?” Donghyuck asks, separating briefly to touch Jeno’s abs. Jeno sighs. Donghyuck’s hands are _hot_ , burning trails of heat on Jeno’s skin. His abdominal muscles clench as Donghyuck touches the individual dips and crevices of his obliques with an almost teasing lightness. “God,” he marvels, his eyes on Jeno’s face as Jeno bites down on his bottom lip not to let out an embarrassing moan. “You’re so sensitive.”

“Please,” he asks, not entirely too sure where he’s going with this, just that he needs more.

Donghyuck stares at him, his eyes blown with lust and his cheeks flushed. The palm of his left hand smooths over Jeno’s abs while his right hand grasps onto the knot of Jeno’s towel. “How far do you want to go?”

“Anywhere you want,” Jeno pants, desperate.

Donghyuck seems to recollect his composure. “I don’t think you’re ready for that,” he says with a close lipped smile, toying with the knot of the towel. Jeno is surprised it hasn’t come loose yet, considering how he’s straining against the fabric. “You’ve never been with a guy before, have you?”

“No,” Jeno says, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. “I’ve… you know I’ve only been with her.”

“My, my, I feel so honoured,” Donghyuck’s sweet smile contrasting to the ravishing look in his eyes. “Though…” he gives Jeno a considering look, “an asshole is still an asshole. Ever tried anal?”

Jeno gasps even though it’s not the most vulgar thing Donghyuck’s ever said. “What? No! We’ve… it was always, you know, in the front. I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“So considerate,” Donghyuck coos, amused. “Am I correct to assume that you’ve never been pegged before then? How about a few fingers? No? Not even one?”

Jeno shakes his head, his cheeks flaming in colour as Donghyuck casually asks dirty questions like they’re discussing the weather, as if he’s not running the tip of his index finger along the length of Jeno’s cock.

“No, ah…” Jeno pants, his cock hardening beneath Donghyuck’s maddening touch. “Hyuck… please.”

“I do so like it when pretty posh boys say please,” Donghyuck smiles mockingly. “Lie down on the bed.”

_Finally._

Jeno takes two steps back until his knees hit the bed and falls down. The bed is soft and plush, like it’s made to mould his body. He props himself up on his elbows, abs tensing, to look at Donghyuck and await his next instruction.

“It’s good that you have your towel. I like forethought in a man, it makes clean-up so much easier,” Donghyuck muses, almost to himself. He looks Jeno in the eye. “Now undo it and spread it out.”

Jeno does as he says, trying to resist the temptation to rub his cock as his fingers brush against it while he shakily undoes the stiff knot holding the towel together.

He gasps when his cock is free as the towel falls sideways, the length springing up tall and already beading at the tip.

“Don’t touch,” Donghyuck says, and Jeno drops his hand, not realising that he had subconsciously been reaching for his cock.

Donghyuck stands at the end of the bed, his face flushed with lust and his hands playing with the sash of the robe. The side of his lips quirk when he sees that he has Jeno’s undivided attention.

Slowly, in a teasing fashion, almost like he’s dancing to the beat of a song, Donghyuck goes to undo it. The sash comes undone, the fabric slipping off to reveal a tanned shoulder and an arm. Jeno could almost be tricked into thinking that Donghyuck felt shy if he didn’t smile coyly the whole time.

Then, with a graceful roll of his chest, he shrugs the other side of the material and reveals the other side, still clutching onto the middle of the robe and not baring it all. He glances up, staring straight into Jeno’s eyes as if challenging him, and lets go of the material. It pools at his feet, standing before him like a flower at full bloom.

Jeno’s mouth goes dry.

If he ever doubted he was bisexual, those uncertainties were put to the grave now.

Donghyuck has a man’s body. Strong shoulders, flat chest, a lean waist, muscular thighs, and most obviously, a hard cock between his legs. They share the same anatomy so it’s not something new, but somehow, he feels as awestruck as the first-time he saw a girl’s body.

“God,” he swallows, his brain devoid of thoughts, a haze of desire. “You’re so… God, you’re so hot.”

Donghyuck smiles, pleased. His eyes scan over Jeno’s body once more, and Jeno feels his cock twitch at his Donghyuck’s casual appraisal. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

But instead of joining Jeno in bed, he turns around, which makes Jeno sit up in worry, “Where are you going?”

Donghyuck goes to his suitcase, leaning over as he searches for something. “Relax, pet. I’m just looking for condoms and lube.”

“Do you casually keep that on you, or did you plan this?”

Donghyuck returns with the goods. “That depends on which answer you would prefer.”

“I’d hear the truth.” Jeno raises an eyebrow as Donghyuck climbs onto bed, their bodies angled towards each other but not quite touching.

Donghyuck smirks, “Perhaps I had been hoping that I would get another kiss after July.”

“A kiss is very different from sex,” Jeno says, but he can’t help but smile. “Arrogant, aren’t we?”

“I prefer confident and prepared,” Donghyuck replies, smiling cockily. “As all good lawyers know, they should always come prepared for unexpected circumstances.”

Jeno rolls his eyes and reaches up to kiss him to shut him up. As he does he gets lost in the sensation of skin against skin—except he can’t help but note the feeling of something hard poking his stomach rather than the softness that would normally press against his chest. Although it’s different, it’s nice, the friction against his own cock. If Donghyuck didn’t use a hand to hold down his hips, Jeno might have been tempted to grind against him to completion.

“Wait,” Donghyuck pants, looking as reluctant as Jeno feels to wait. “We’re thirty, not fifteen, it’s ignoble to grind like a bunch of horny teenagers. I want to do this properly while we have a bed.”

Jeno takes the lube from Donghyuck’s hand. “I can do it.”

“You sure?” He asks, even though he’s eyeing Jeno’s hands with interest.

“Yes.”

Jeno has a fraction of Donghyuck’s experience, but he _knows_ he’s good with his hands. If he can make a woman orgasm, a man will be easy. They’re simple and base creatures, after all.

They change positions. Donghyuck lies down on the bed, spreading his legs slightly, and Jeno stares.

Lord save him.

Jeno had imagined Donghyuck naked, but somehow, having him _right here_ beneath him, a touch away feels like something from his deepest, most suppressed fantasy.

There’s so much to look at and Jeno doesn’t know where to begin. There’s so much smooth tanned skin tinged in pink, a flush that creeps down his neck to the tops of his chest—and Jeno had never thought Donghyuck could blush so visibly.

 _God_ , Donghyuck is well-loved by his past lovers, he thinks. There are moles everywhere; they continue down the line of his throat, one on his left collarbone, one by the left of his chest, then dipping into the V of his hip, and…

Jeno swallows, his mouth dry.

Somehow, he can’t quite bring himself to look at it directly, because it feels forbidden, _illicit_.

Instead, he pulls his gaze down to Donghyuck’s legs. Jeno unintentionally inflicted torture upon himself when he introduced Donghyuck to the world of tailored trousers— but nothing can compare to the sight of his bare lean legs. They’re so… they’re so long and defined, so perfectly sculpted that Jeno understands the desire to wrap them around his neck. When Jeno squeezes his thigh, it gives beneath his hand and _Jeno_ sighs from the smooth supple feeling.

“Are you going to touch me or just stare at me all day?”

“Patience is a virtue.” Jeno reaches for the bottle of lube and squeezes some into his hands, spreading them across his fingers and warming them up.

“Well, what we’re doing is not particularly virtuous, so the point is moot.”

Even if Jeno concurs with his statement, there’s no reason for Donghyuck to sound so smug, so he pushes his first finger into him. He watches Donghyuck’s face carefully; no discomfort or unease, and then he starts to move his finger.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck says dryly, even though his eyes are dilated and dark, “I am consenting to penetration by your fingers _and_ penis. There is no ambit for ambiguity here. I want you to fuck me.”

Well, who is Jeno to deny his wishes?

Donghyuck is relaxed, his legs spread open, which makes it easy for Jeno to pump his finger, bending the tip of his digit to scrape along Donghyuck’s wall. For a moment, he thinks that this level of slickness is normal, until he remembers that men don't naturally lubricate, and he wonders just what Donghyuck was up to in the shower.

“You can put in another,” Donghyuck says, his face redder than before. “I won’t break.”

“No, you’re very well-adjusted.” Jeno narrows his eyes in suspicion as he adds in his index finger, his left-hand inching towards the forbidden, before at last he can’t resist and wraps a hand around Donghyuck’s cock.

“Ah, _fuck_.”

At last, Donghyuck’s composure seems to break. Jeno pumps his cock, red and leaking at the tip, and feels his mouth water. He’s never given a blowjob before, but now he’s filled with the desire to wrap his lips around it just to see Donghyuck throw his head back in pleasure.

“Come on, Jeno Lee,” Donghyuck huffs, his fluffy brown hair now matted to his forehead. “You said you’re a man of your word and you would finger me but I’ve got nothing so far!”

Now that’s a challenge.

Jeno looks down at Donghyuck’s hole, bright pink and shining with lube, and it’s so small that it feels obscene that his cock is going to be in that. Jeno shudders at the throb of lust that runs through him at the thought. He takes a deep breath, easing two fingers inside of Donghyuck, extending his fingers when he’s inside the puckered bundle of nerves. He feels breathless when he sees how Donghyuck’s body takes him in.

“You can just stretch me out,” Donghyuck says, his left hand idly playing with his nipples. “It’s okay.”

Jeno doesn’t just want to be _okay_. He wants to please Donghyuck. He’s never been unremarkable and he’s not going to start now.

With his right hand, he scissors his fingers, moving them around inside Donghyuck’s walls. With his left, he pumps Donghyuck’s cock slowly, using the pre-cum to make the slide smoother. He watches Donghyuck’s reactions closely; somehow, when Donghyuck’s breath hitches, Jeno gets the feeling it’s not from the handjob.

Testing his hypothesis, Jeno glides his finger over the small spot, his index finger tracing over a small hard bump inside of him, and the gasp that Donghyuck emits tells him all that he needs to know.

“Oh my fucking God,” Donghyuck cries, his hand latching onto Jeno’s arm to keep him there.

Now that Jeno knows where it is, he intentionally rubs his fingers over the same spot over and over again, and Donghyuck moans, the sound breathy and wretched. His left hand is completely wet because Donghyuck’s cock just _weeps_ , leaking pre-cum all over his stomach and it’s all so messy. Jeno wants to press kisses on all the moles of his chest, to bite on the soft belly, and to lick the cum off of Donghyuck.

“Okay, okay, stop,” Donghyuck pants, and Jeno immediately lets go. He sees the look on Jeno’s face and huffs fondly, “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, pet. I’m not the virile strapping young lad I once was, so I can’t go multiple rounds. Unfortunately.” He racks his eyes over Jeno with a bite on his lip.

_He was about to make Donghyuck come? Donghyuck wants to go multiple rounds with him?_

“Oh,” Jeno swallows, his throat bobbing. “Okay.”

The feeling of Donghyuck’s hand on his cock is so unexpected that Jeno bucks into the touch, moaning loudly. He had pushed his own desire to the back of his mind, so consumed by the sight of Donghyuck’s pretty face contoured by pleasure. Donghyuck’s hand expertly pumps his cock a few times before he lets go, and Jeno can’t help the whine that escapes him, his face burning up in mortification when Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.

“Aw, don’t you worry, pet,” Donghyuck’s accent accentuates the sweet singsong lilt of his voice. His eyes blaze with the devil. “If you please me, I won’t leave you hanging. I reward good behaviour and punish the bad.”

Jeno shouldn’t find it hot. He shouldn’t find the ridiculous lines Donghyuck spouts attractive. But he’s starting to think that Donghyuck could recite all 700 pages of the Companies Act 2006 and Jeno would still find it hot.

“Shut up,” he says, for the lack of clever things to say, face turning red.

Donghyuck smirks but just hands him the condom. “How do you want it?” Donghyuck prompts when Jeno doesn’t speak. “Lying down? Hands and knees? Sideways?”

Jeno’s mind goes haywire and then crashes. Sensory overload, it’s too overwhelming to think that Jeno _could_ have Donghyuck, let alone the logistics of how he’s _going_ to have him.

How does he want Donghyuck?

Where does Jeno even begin?

Jeno is unable to decide, “Whatever you want, just…” he hesitates before blurting, “I want to see your face.”

Something flashes across Donghyuck’s face too quickly for Jeno to interpret before he smiles. There’s an edge to his voice when he says, “If that’s what you want.”

“I do,” he says, trying to determine what Donghyuck feels. “If you’re okay with it, of course.”

Donghyuck snatches the condom back from his hands. In a move of surprising dexterity, he wraps his legs around Jeno’s waist and flips them over. Jeno lands on his back with a breathless _oof_ as Donghyuck straddles his hips. He tears open the condom, rolls it down Jeno’s cock with expert finesse, and looks at him defiantly. “You were taking too long.”

All the air in Jeno’s lungs escape with a whoosh as Donghyuck takes his cock, lines it up to his hole, and sits down. He moans loudly as Donghyuck bottoms out, clenching the bedsheets with his fists to prevent himself from lifting his hips, waiting for Donghyuck to adjust to the intrusion.

Donghyuck plants his hands on Jeno’s abs for balance before he lifts himself up and sinks back down, and Jeno groans. The way Donghyuck’s walls engulf his cock is amazing, it’s so tight and hot and it’s so damn _good_.

Jeno closes his eyes, the onslaught of pleasure so great. The feeling of Donghyuck around him isn’t completely unfamiliar. Donghyuck is warm and _tight_ —tighter than a vagina, with less give and ridges. There’s more friction too; the slide feels dryer but hotter. Jeno feels like he might combust because of the constant pressure around his cock, it almost feels like he’s too big for Donghyuck’s hole.

He yelps, his eyes flying open when there’s a twist around his nipple. “You said you wanted to look at my face,” Donghyuck reminds him pointedly as he practically bounces on Jeno’s cock.

Jeno _looks._

Donghyuck doesn’t have a woman’s body. His chest is flat, but when Jeno flicks his nipple, it pebbles with sensitivity. Donghyuck’s stomach isn’t quite as tapered, but it’s still smooth and soft when Jeno rests a hand around his waist. Donghyuck doesn’t have a vagina, but when Jeno wraps a hand around his cock, pumping it with the rhythm of Donghyuck’s gyrating, he still lets out a litany of lovely sounds.

Jeno looks and sees Donghyuck’s brown hair sticking to his forehead, his face flushed with pink, sweat dripping down his neck. Jeno hears Donghyuck’s breathy moans and groans, the grunts he makes as he fucks himself down on Jeno’s cock, all decidedly masculine. Jeno sees Donghyuck’s cock, hard and wet and bobbing against his own stomach, smearing that pearly white precum onto himself. He hears the sound of skin on skin contact, somehow louder and more obscene as Donghyuck rides him for all he’s worth.

Jeno looks and only sees Donghyuck.

Donghyuck starts to move even faster, the slap of skin and balls even more pronounced, and Jeno can’t stop the moans that leave his lips. “Hyuck,” he gasps, gripping Donghyuck’s hips—to steady him or to hold onto Jeno’s own sanity, he didn’t know. “Ah… you feel so good, fuck.”

“Touch me,” Donghyuck pants, and Jeno grips his cock, thumbing at the head which leaks more and more precum with every rub of his fingers. “God yes, ah. Oh fuck, oh yes, pet… oh you have so fucking nice hands.”

“I’m close,” Jeno cries, his head thrashing, turning left and right against the pillow as Donghyuck clenches even tighter around him. “Oh God, Hyuck. I’m going to—”

“Make me come _first_.”

Donghyuck reaches down to wrap his hand around the base of Jeno’s cock, acting as a makeshift cock ring, and Jeno nearly yowls when Donghyuck denies him his orgasm. Donghyuck slows to a agonising grind, his hips snaking in patterns of eight.

Something in him snaps.

Jeno sits up so suddenly it almost dislodges Donghyuck, who gasps—clearly not expecting this course of action. Jeno fists Donghyuck’s cock, jerking him with all the precum that he’s leaked, wet and messy and slick, and he thrusts his hips up, lifting Donghyuck up and down with the muscles developed from hours at the gym.

“Oh, _oh_ ,” Donghyuck moans, high and breathless from this change of pace. “You, fuck, Jeno Lee, I—”

If Jeno was capable of thought, he’d be proud of how he could turn the tables on Donghyuck, but all he could see was Donghyuck’s face, the way his lips curled around Jeno’s name, the desperate way he chased after his pleasure, and all Jeno could think of was:

 _I need to make him come_.

“Hyuck,” he says, his voice strangled, every inch of his self-control exercised to hold his orgasm at bay.

Donghyuck looks at him, his eyes hazy with lust and his lips part, and then they’re kissing. It’s uncoordinated and wet; they’re almost panting into each other’s mouth, tongues brushing messily, but it feels so fucking good to be connected to Donghyuck.

“Jeno,” Donghyuck gasps, his head falling back, “I—”

That’s all the warning he gets before Donghyuck is spilling into his hand, gasping and moaning as he comes over himself, painting his stomach in strings of white. Jeno pumps his hand through it, milking him for every last drip of pleasure. When Donghyuck whimpers in oversensitivity, Jeno takes his hands away, laying Donghyuck down on the bed even though they’re still connected and his cock begs him to _fuck him_.

It’s okay though, he gets distracted by Donghyuck's visage post orgasm. His round eyes are half-lidded, blinking slow and unfocused, but they’re liquidy with lust as he stares at Jeno. Donghyuck’s mouth, red and kiss slick, shines wet as he licks his lips with satisfaction.

Jeno whimpers, and Donghyuck’s eyes sharpen like a predator.

“Oh, pet,” he coos, reaching a hand up and Jeno lowers his head to let him touch his hair. “You did so well. You made me come first, so I suppose you’ve earned you reward. Fuck me and make yourself come, okay?”

Jeno is so on edge that it doesn’t take long for him to come. When Donghyuck lifts his hips and wraps those damnably long legs around Jeno’s waist, clenching down on him, the coil that he’d been holding onto for so long snaps.

With a long drawn out whine, Jeno comes. The pleasure rushes over him like an avalanche and he surrenders himself to it, let’s himself be swept away by the storm, Donghyuck as his only anchor.

The high from strenuous activity is no stranger to him, but there is none quite as satisfying as this. It’s like all his muscles have been kneaded and massaged to perfection, and his body feels warm and gooey like honey, still faintly thrumming in the aftershocks of pleasure.

The lights are off when Jeno returns from the toilet, but he has a lot of practice in walking around a dark bedroom. It’s not completely pitch black though; the balcony door is open so wind rustles the gauzy diaphanous curtains, allowing moonlight from the clear night sky to pours through. Even from afar, he sees how the moon casts a silvery glow over Donghyuck’s silhouette.

“What are you doing outside?” Jeno asks, stepping out into the balcony.

Donghyuck’s eyes flick over to his, raising his cigarette in a lazy salute, taking one last drag before he snubs it out. “Cigarettes after sex isn’t just a band, you know.”

Jeno frowns but doesn’t say anything. He stares outwards, the Szechenyi Bridge magnificent in the distance. But even though it’s late, there’s still traffic, an endless stream of cars and buses, and he hears people’s voices floating up from the balcony. It feels like a reminder that the world is larger than Donghyuck and him.

“Will you come to bed?” Jeno asks.

Donghyuck turns to him; half his face is illuminated by moonlight, half of it is concealed by the shadows. Donghyuck takes Jeno’s hand, their fingers interlocking as they walk back to bed.

“Jeno,” Donghyuck murmurs, throwing his arm over Jeno’s bare waist,

“Hyuck,” he hums, barely able to make out Donghyuck’s features from the proximity of their faces.

Donghyuck traces absent patterns over the skin of his waist, a lulling action that coaxes him further to sleep.

“Jen… what made you want to be a lawyer?” Donghyuck asks, his words muffled from the pillow.

He can’t say what he expected Donghyuck to ask—he delighted in being unpredictable, after all—but this was definitely not standard pillow talk.

“My Uncle was a lawyer in a high street practice. I did a few weeks of work experience during my secondary school summers and I enjoyed it, so I decided to pursue it as my career.”

“Did you really?” Donghyuck’s fingers skim across Jeno’s sides, causing goose bumps to arise on his skin. “It’s such a trope training contract answer. Your Uncle would have done things like Wills and probate, residential property, and maybe some family law… quite different from corporate law.”

It’s late. It’s dark. He’s already opened up so much of himself to Donghyuck—this is hardly the worst of it. If anything, this is the most common and yet unspoken reason.

Jeno breathes, “I wasn’t scientifically or mathematically inclined. Law was the best pick of the rest.”

Donghyuck doesn’t cease his light touch and Jeno focuses on the pad of his fingertips. “Do you actually like corporate law? Mergers and acquisitions?”

“I’m good at it and I like being good at things. My preferences don’t matter.”

Donghyuck’s hands stop. “It matters—it matters to me.” His hand moves up Jeno’s arm, past the curve of his shoulder to cup the base of his neck. “If you could go back, would you change it?”

It takes Jeno a moment to consider.

“Do you have a dream, Hyuck?” he asks instead. “When you were young, when your teacher asked, what job did you say you wanted to do? What did you see yourself in twenty years?”

“Well… I actually always wanted to be a lawyer. I like winning arguments, the rush of besting someone intellectually. I always wanted to travel, so working in an international law firm was my dream,” Donghyuck says with a moment’s thought. “And you?”

“I’ve never had a dream,” Jeno admits quietly, closing his eyes. “I’ve never had a calling. I’ve never had any particular feelings about much, to be honest. I know what I don’t like and I know what I’m not good at, but… I don’t know what I want or what I like.”

“What brought you here, then?”

“Financial security. My dream was to live a comfortable life, if I had to quantify it. To make my family proud and to provide for my loved ones,” Jeno sighs, leaning into Donghyuck’s palm as he caresses his face, smiling wryly. “That’s why I did corporate law. Isn’t it an awful reason?”

“Why is it awful?” Donghyuck asks, shifting closer to Jeno until their chests are touching, legs entangled. “Some people go into law to change the world, to help people. But that’s never been cooperate law. Being a corporate lawyer is inherently about yourself. If we phrase it prettily, it’s the challenge, being involved in multi-billion deals, cross-border work and whatever. We serve conglomerates, multinationals, and capitalists.”

“And if you phrase it truthfully?”

“For self-importance, for the money. Whatever reason it is, it’s not about _helping_ the client. A company might be a legal entity like a natural person, but they’re very different from helping Tom Dick or Harry off the street.”

Jeno knows that he’s edging into dangerous territory, that they haven’t spoken about what they are, about what they’re doing, but he can’t help asking.

“Do you think you’re a bad person? A selfish person?”

“No,” Donghyuck answers, his voice full of conviction. “We aren’t bad people. The world is so money driven that I’ve had to adapt to survive. That you’ve had to become one of them just to get through life.”

He thumbs Jeno’s cheekbone, their noses brushing slightly, his voice a whisper, “It’s not selfish to live. It’s not selfish to want to be happy. It’s not selfish to live life the way you want. It’s not selfish for deviating from the norm. You should be the writer of your life, not an actor following a script.”

Donghyuck asking “Do you have ADHD?” was not a question Jeno was expecting over a hearty lunch of chicken paprika stew, fried dough smothered in sour cream and cheese, fisherman’s soup and fried cheese.

Jeno makes a confused noise, “Eh? No. Why do you ask?”

“If you don’t have ADHD, why do you have Ritalin in your bag?”

Donghyuck stares at him defiantly, his posture defensive like he’s readying himself for battle.

Jeno frowns, “Wait, how did you—oh.”

That morning, they had gone to the famous Szechenyi Thermal Spa. After hours of bathing in the outdoor pools, testing out the fifteen indoor pools, tried out the various saunas and steam rooms, they decided they were more hungry than in need of relaxation, so they left the rest of the group to go for lunch.

When there was a knock on the door to Jeno’s private cabin—a fancy name for what was essentially a changing cubicle—he thought Donghyuck needed something. Well, it turned out he did need something, just not a towel or deodorant or something mundane—he needed to blow Jeno’s cock.

In public. Behind a shutter-leafed wooden door as his next-door neighbour hummed a random pop song. Which meant that the slick, wet sound of Donghyuck’s mouth bobbing along his length—his hand wrapped around the part of the base his lips couldn’t touch—was barely muffled. Which also meant that Jeno had to stick his fingers in his mouth to stop the whines and whimpers he couldn’t suppress from coming out.

It was both agony and joy, seeing Donghyuck kneel before him with that dastardly twinkle in his eyes, sucking his cock with hollowed cheeks. It wasn’t so fun when cum got all over his stuff, and Donghyuck had to fish around his bag to find something to dry it.

“Yes, oh,” Donghyuck snaps. “So? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Jeno purses his lips, cutting his langos with more force than necessary. “I don’t use it regularly. I only take it when I have big closings with a lot of work piled up and I’m unable to concentrate because I’m tired.”

“Big closings?” Donghyuck laughs, the sound harsh and grating. “You work for the biggest law firm in London. All your clients are big companies. You might as well say that you take it on the regular.”

“I don’t,” Jeno insists, clenching his cutlery. “I haven’t taken it in a month. It’s only for the biggest closings when I’m physically inundated with work, when I haven’t slept in _days_ , when I physically feel I can’t go a moment longer, then I take it.”

“Stop it.”

“Excuse me?!”

Donghyuck glares at him angrily. But beneath the anger, there’s something more. It looks like… fear.

“Quit Ritalin. I took your bottle and I threw it in the bin. I’ll go through all your shit when we’re back and if I find more Ritalin, I’ll throw that out too! I mean it, I’m going to throw it all away! You have to quit, Jeno!”

“How could you?” Jeno asks, flabbergasted, and then he starts to become angry. “That was _mine_! I—”

“You what? You needed it? You’re neurotypical, you don’t need fucking need kiddie meth. It’s one of the most commonly abused prescription meds and it’s going to fuck you up. You’re going to need it just to focus instead of being able to focus _more_. There are so many side-effects. You have to stop!”

“I’m not an addict! I use it as a supplement, it’s not—”

“Why are you so angry and defensive if you’re not an addict, huh?” Donghyuck demands, his eyes flashing. “The mere fact that you take prescription medication when you’re neurotypical and you don’t need it is a sign that you’re abusing it! At what point is an addiction an addiction? Just because you don’t take it every single day doesn’t mean you’re not an addict. Just because you’re high functioning doesn’t mean you’re not an addict. You take Ritalin often enough that you use it as a crutch, a boost to help you out and that’s wrong. This is medication, not a ginger energy shot from Joe & The Juice!”

 _He’s wrong_ , Jeno thinks indignantly. Jeno isn’t an addict; he knows what an addict is, he only needs to look at Jaemin to see. Jaemin took it for _years_ , his dosage increasing until he had to take it or else he couldn’t actually work. He’d been there when Jaemin finally quit it one and for all three years ago, so Jeno _knew_ what an addict was like and he was nowhere near Jaemin’s desperation for the drug.

But then he remembers how Jaemin had always denied being an addict. How he’d gone from popping pills only for exams to only important days at work to every day. How he lost weight, had bad memory, would go unusually excited to very socially withdrawn, had periods of oversleeping and then days of insomnia…

Jaemin had been the one to introduce Jeno to Ritalin a few years ago, knowing that he was struggling with his workload and that he wasn’t able to meet his targets. In the past, he had gotten the pills from Jaemin, so Jeno is sure that Jaemin doesn’t know he’s still using it. He knows Jaemin would feel horribly guilty that he’d brought Jeno on, he knows Jaemin would be disappointed in him for using it when he’d seen how bad the addiction made him, which is why he says:

“Fine, I’ll stop.”

Donghyuck narrows his eyes, disbelieving. “You promise to stop? Like, actually stop? You’re not just saying yes to make me shut up, are you?”

“I promise.”

“You won’t go to find the firm doctor and ask him to prescribe you another dose?” Donghyuck asks again.

“I won’t.”

Jeno sighs when Donghyuck still eyes him with suspicion, “I told you I would and I’m a man of my word, aren’t I? Do you trust me?”

Donghyuck looks torn. “I do, but…” he sighs, looking wearier than Jeno had ever seen. “Someone I loved- liked was on it and… he was different on drugs. He said it made him better, but it brought out the worst in him. I don’t want to see that happen to you; I can’t go through it again.”

Donghyuck resolutely stares at his plate of half-eaten fried cheese, his eyes glassy and the jut of his jaw hard like he’s holding back emotions.

“I’m sorry.” He reaches out to touch Donghyuck’s hand to comfort him.

Donghyuck grips his hand, “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Promise me you won’t use it.”

“I won’t.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes!” Jeno huffs. “Do you want me to sign a contract or something?”

Donghyuck hums, recovering some of his usual levity. “Actually, yes. That would reassure me greatly. Terms?” he asks, pulling out a pen from his bag and a napkin.

Jeno stares at him. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you? Are we in a movie or something?”

“No, just a few corporate lawyers who are fairly sick of popular media getting contracts completely wrong,” Donghyuck says blasely. “The four key elements of a contract are offer, acceptance, consideration and intention to create legal relations. Now, go.”

Jeno sighs, deciding to humour Donghyuck, “I, Jeno Lee, promise to stop taking, purchasing, procuring and asking for Ritalin, whether through myself or through an agent.”

“And I, Donghyuck Lee, accept.”

“We both agree that we have the intention to be legally bound by our word,” Jeno says.

“Oh yeah, intention to create legal _relations_.” Donghyuck waggles his eyebrows.

“Now wait a moment, a contract is a legally binding promise by one party to fulfill an obligation to another party in return for consideration,” Jeno states. “I’ve made an offer, you’ve accepted and we’ve agreed that there is the intention to create legal relations, but there’s no consideration.” He looks at Donghyuck pointedly, “This is an awful contract with no commercial value. I’ll have you know I’m only in the business of making good deals.”

“What do you want?” Donghyuck tilts his head, looking at Jeno appraisingly.

Jeno hides a smile, “Consideration should correspond to the offer. I’m giving up Ritalin, which I suppose is my vice. It’s only fair if you gave up yours.”

Donghyuck stares at him flatly. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m asking for!”

“You want me to quit smoking. I saw you side-eyeing me earlier. I’ve smoked for twelve years!”

“That’s twelve years too many. You know yourself you should quit.”

“Ugh, it’s not illegal to smoke!”

Jeno steeples his hands and leans forward, throwing his best bait. “If you don’t quit, I won’t kiss you.”

That gets Donghyuck’s attention. His face pinkens and his eyes widen in shock at Jeno’s audacity, “What? That’s- you’re not playing fair.”

Jeno widens his eyes. “I’m not in the habit of kissing ashtrays.” He pouts, going on the offensive, “Do you hate me that much, Donghyuck? Do you want me to get lung cancer? What was it—by sixty-five get lung cancer, suffer and then die?”

“I, that’s not,” Donghyuck stutters, completely taken aback. “You can’t quote me verbatim, that’s just—”

Jeno raises a hand, indicating for silence. “Your paltry excuses do not interest me,” Jeno smiles slightly. “Let me reiterate my question: will you or won’t you quit smoking?”

Donghyuck closes his eyes, groaning. “I see why you’re the fucking Golden Boy of the firm. Goddamn it why are you so hot when you’re negotiating my life away.”

“That is not an answer to my question. I don’t want any ambit open for interpretation. Yes or no?”

“Yes!” Donghyuck throws his napkin down, huffing. “It’s a yes and you know it.”

Jeno smiles slightly, dipping his head cordially. It was never polite to gloat in front of your opponents.

“Thank you,” he slides the napkin which Donghyuck had been writing up the terms to sign his name with a flourish. “Now, we can cross sign the contract and deliver it to each other.”

In a Budapest brasserie, Stevie Wonder’s _Signed, Sealed, Delivered_ starts playing like the hand of God.

“We don’t have a seal,” Donghyuck points out slyly.

Jeno smiles wryly. Donghyuck knows full and well that the use of seals to affix contracts was abolished years ago, too outdated and traditional even for the English, who still retained the use of horsehair wigs for barristers.

“I suppose as a token of good faith,” Jeno smiles demurely, “we can seal the deal with a kiss.”

Donghyuck grins like a Goldman Sachs banker on payday—childish greed on an adult man’s face.

“Satisfied?” Jeno asks.

“Of you, my dear?” Donghyuck trails his eyes over Jeno slowly. “ _Never_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm sorry.
> 
> The songs that are played in June are: Come on Eileen, Mr Brightside, Wannabe and Wonderwall. All essential songs at a typical British party.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are much appreciated! Wishing you all the best xx
> 
> Twitter: @spyblue31


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the law is going to punish him for the full crime regardless of his level of participation, then let him deserve it. Let him commit the crime fully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Steph, I know you must be bummed, so it is my sincere hope that this chapter might cheer you up a little. I hope you will enjoy it, darling.

**September**

“Out of all the pubs on the Strand, you had to choose a Weatherspoon’s?”

Jeno says, unimpressed, as they trudge along Chancery Lane carrying their heavy briefcases. When Donghyuck mentioned he knew a place where they could water their thirst after a long day at the Royal Courts of Justice, he didn’t think they would be going to the national discount pub chain frequented by lads and chavs and the like.

“My dear, Jeno,” Donghyuck slips his hand around the crook of Jeno’s elbow. “Although Tim Martin—like all other Brexit wankers—is an absolute cunt that should get fucked, one thing that Spoons does well is choosing their location.” He gestures grandiosely towards the entrance, which Jeno hadn’t realised was the place. “This is not a pub; this is a _public house_.” He affects a haughty RP accent that resembles Jaemin’s.

As they step into The Knights Templar, Jeno immediately understands the meaning of Donghyuck’s words. The pub is housed in an extravagant building that keeps up with its Chancery Lane neighbours like the neo-Gothic Maughan Library and the imposingly columned Law Society’s Hall. Impressively, the outward façade matches the interior with incredibly high ceilings supported on gold-topped columns, large golden chandeliers decorate the expansive gilded main hall, and an array of chivalrous artwork hangs on the walls. Despite the sombre dark wood fixtures, the huge bay windows by the side flood the room with light and cause the gold to sparkle.

“This place is tall and stately because it used to be the premise of Union Bank,” Donghyuck supplies. “I don’t know if you’ve seen The Da Vinci Code, but this pub takes its name from the ancient order of Warrior Monks, the Knights Templar which was featured in the movie.”

That certainly explains why there’s a knight in shining armour looming by the bar, looking like he was poised to charge despite being mounted on the wall.

“You certainly know a lot about this pub,” Jeno says as he follows Donghyuck along the black and white marble tiled main hall, looking around curiously.

“It’s a five-minute walk from the Royal Courts of Justice,” Donghyuck says with a quirk of his lips. “I feel like I get lucky when I come here. It’s sort of my tradition now.”

As they walk past the main bar, a long wooden table that once the bank tellers stood behind, a middle-aged white man raises his pint when he spots Donghyuck, who waves at him in return.

“He’s a Silk from 39 Essex Chambers,” Donghyuck mutters as they walk up a small flight of stairs to the back, reaching a small cosy room with a large oak bookshelf and fireplace that is devoid of people. “So if it’s good enough for a Queen’s Counsel, then it’s good enough for us.”

Jeno snorts, glancing down at the menu, “He’s a barrister—the majority are impervious to alcohol. This is a good watering hole for them considering a whole bunch of barrister chambers are within the vicinity.”

It’s probably a result of the location that the BBC News is played on television instead of the usual football match from Sky Sports that would dominate the screen.

“What do you want to drink?” Donghyuck asks, raising a hand to stop Jeno when he opens his mouth to protest. “Please, this isn’t the American Bar at The Savoy—I can afford your poison. You can get the next round if you’re that insistent. Now, what’ll you have?”

At pubs, it’s customary to order ales and lagers. He feels the familiar anxiety creep up because he doesn’t know what to order as the menu doesn’t have a comprehensive list of their drinks; he fears Donghyuck will judge his rather horrendous taste, so he says finally, “I’ll have what you have.”

Donghyuck inclines his head before ambling up to the bar. When he returns, he holds different drinks instead of two identical ones.

“I thought we were getting the same thing?”

“Sometimes, I think you say things for the convenience of others rather than your own likes,” Donghyuck says as he places a fizzy purple drink in front of Jeno. “I recall that you like sweet drinks, so here you go—this is a Ginberry Fizz, with pink gin, raspberry liqueur and lemonade.”

Jeno smiles embarrassedly, “You remember that?” It’s not particularly manly to like fruity drinks so he usually just sucks it up and drinks whatever other people have.

“I pay attention to you,” Donghyuck says. He seems to realise how frank his statement is and flushes, taking a big gulp of his Old Mout kiwi & lime cider, avoiding eye contact.

Jeno knows Donghyuck doesn’t mean it like that but he can’t help feeling warm. It’s such an inconsequential thing, but it’s just—it feels nice that Donghyuck watches him and knows his likes and dislikes.

He clears his throat, grasping at the first topic he can. “You know, I think I’ve actually been here before. This place has really posh toilets, right? With statues and sofas inside like it’s a powder room?” When Donghyuck nods, Jeno continues with an amused smile, “I remember this only because years ago, back in the LPC days, Jaemin got a drink spilt on his new white Dior running shoes here and I had to help him clean up.”

Donghyuck cackles too hard at Jaemin’s expense, though Jeno can’t bring himself to tell him to stop when he looks so gleeful. “Oh God! That was the welcoming drinks, right?”

Jeno raises an eyebrow. “You were there? Just imagine if we’d met before this year.”

He gets this pang of regret when he realises that Donghyuck existed in his proximity all these years and yet Jeno didn’t know him. He gets an ache in his chest that he doesn’t dare examine.

“Actually,” Donghyuck bites his lip, taking a swig of his cider. “We have met prior to this year.”

Jeno makes an inquisitive noise and Donghyuck glances at him. “You don’t remember, do you?”

He tries to scan his mind for Donghyuck but draws a blank. Perhaps they met during an office party or maybe shared a lift or made small talk while they were at the canteen—he’s not too sure. “No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” Donghyuck pats his hand briefly and Jeno’s hand twitches, but he suppresses the instinct to touch him again. “This was around three years ago, when I first entered the firm as a paralegal. You know I was involved with the Tax department.” He takes a gulp of his drink. “Anyways, it was a _bad_ day.” He fiddles with the paper coaster, tearing it at the edges. “It’s kind of pathetic, thinking back, but I was so sure I was going to get fired that day and I had so much on my plate and the fucking _printer_ got jammed and I was just…”

Somehow, Jeno gets the courage to slide his left hand across the oak table until he reaches Donghyuck’s tanned hand, tentatively lacing their hands together until Donghyuck squeezes his in return.

“I was like a week in and I thought I broke this stupid posh printer that’s worth more than me. It wasn’t even the fucking printer, it was just—” he waves his hand wildly, “just everything coming down at me all at once and it was _too much_. I was in the midst of a breakdown in the print room and you—”

Donghyuck looks at him wonderingly. “I remember you came in and you looked at me and I was so embarrassed to be a new hire at twenty-six and having a crying fit over the printer, but you didn’t—” he takes a deep breath. “You didn’t judge me. I knew who you were in the firm, but you still took ten minutes from your undoubtedly busy day to teach me how to use the printer. You didn’t treat me like I was inferior to you.”

Jeno looks down on their joined hands, trying to recall this instance since it obviously means much to Donghyuck, but he can’t. “It’s just the printer, it’s not much.”

“You were kind to me when very few people were,” Donghyuck says quietly. “I remember that very well.”

Jeno feels a surge of protectiveness overcome him. It’s almost impossible to reconcile a Donghyuck who was insecure of his ability to the current Donghyuck who is so confident and capable. He wonders what Donghyuck went through which changed him, and whether it was for the best.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Donghyuck’s smile is gentle. “It’s almost nice that you don’t remember. It just shows that you don’t do it because I’m special, but because you’re a good person who treats everyone equally.”

Jeno wonders what Donghyuck sees when he looks at him. Does he see what the firm sees, what his parents see, what his wife sees? Deep in Jeno’s heart, he doesn’t think he’s a remotely good person at all.

“You’re too kind to me. I’m afraid you put me on a pedestal.”

“No, I don’t. I look at you and I see _you_ for who you are. And Jeno Lee, you _are_ a good person.”

Jeno holds his breath, the air trapped in his lungs, his throat too thick to say anything meaningful. He wants to kiss Donghyuck, but they’re in public and he can’t risk it, even though they’re sitting by themselves. He lifts Donghyuck’s left hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his palm, hoping that he knows what Jeno means.

Donghyuck’s eyes are softer than honey. He doesn’t speak, but sometimes, Jeno thinks that Donghyuck understands him. Donghyuck understands Jeno more than people who have known him for decades.

They leave the pub soon after to return to the office. Jeno sees a hoard of suits swarming the Chancery Lane tube station as they walk past.

“Is it that late already?” Donghyuck asks, glancing at the sky. “It’s getting dark.”

“It’s Autumn, the sun sets early after the long summer,” Jeno replies. There’s a clanging from the church bells and he listens for the amount of times it chimes. “It’s just six-thirty.”

Too tired to lug their heavy briefcases for the half an hour walk back to the office, they get into a black cab. Donghyuck peers out the window with curious, childlike eyes, as if he isn’t immune to the sight even after years of exposure, and Jeno watches him through his peripheral vision.

“There’s a lot of churches in the City.”

Jeno says, “The City of London has the highest number of churches for the meagre amount of inhabitants that actually live in the 1.1 square mile.”

Donghyuck laughs, “Everyone who works in the City doesn’t live there and everyone who attends church in the City doesn’t work there, funnily enough.”

“It is rather ironic that the City has so many churches, isn’t it?”

“God placed more churches here because he knew the City workers needed it,” Donghyuck snickers. “Imagine a Goldman Sachs banker cleansing himself of sin at St. Paul’s before he heads to the office to launder money.”

Jeno laughs, “Isn’t that the saying? Better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission.”

Donghyuck grins, eyes twinkling, and Jeno smiles back at him, feeling satisfied at making him laugh.

They cross over Blackfriars Bridge as the sun sets. He sees the rumbling of the ThamesLink trains as they zoom across the railway bridge, packed full of commuters returning home after a long workday. For Jeno, the day is far from over, as the sharp slate grey and blue glass office building comes into view.

Generally, Jeno is very good at focusing on the task at hand, can work for hours with disruption, but for the past five minutes, he’s stared at the same sentence without absorbing anything.

“Must you be a ceaseless distraction?”

Donghyuck glances up from his laptop, his fingers falling from his mouth, long legs spread wide as he lounges on the chair opposite of Jeno.

He stops biting his nails to smirk back at Jeno. “Is it my fault you get distracted? Why, I thought you were a consummate professional? Isn’t self-control your prized trait?”

Jeno huffs, eyeing Donghyuck’s atrocious posture. Manspreading is extremely disrespectful.

“I am a professional, but I am a man too. And you are- you are an unending source of temptation.”

This seems to amuse Donghyuck. He stands up in a fluid motion, places his laptop down on Jeno’s desk, fingertips trailing across the rosewood as he makes his way around it.

Jeno’s eyes dart towards the door. The walls are made of an opaque glass, impossible to make out anything but vague shapes even when pressed right against it. His window faces outwards to the Thames, so people from nearby buildings can’t look in. His door though… the blinds are drawn, but the door isn’t locked.

Jeno is tense—drawn taut like an arrow on a bowstring—as Donghyuck stands behind him. Jeno resists the urge to turn around, knowing that this is one of Donghyuck’s little games, jolting a little when he places his hands on Jeno’s shoulders, Donghyuck’s thumbs rubbing circles on the base of his neck.

“You work too hard,” he murmurs. “Let me give you a bit of a massage, Mr. Lee.”

Jeno stills when Donghyuck applies more pressure to his shoulder blades. He fights not to give in so easily. “Where do you recycle these trope lines from? You ought to get a refund.”

“Ought I? The line might be bad, but the name though… you seem to like it when I call you Mr. Lee,” Donghyuck says, smug. “I should have known. Men in positions of power do always like to be respected.”

Jeno’s face flushes in colour at the insinuation—though was it an insinuation when Donghyuck practically flat out announced that Jeno had a kink for titles?

“No,” he blurts out, embarrassed. “It’s not the name—it’s _you_.”

Donghyuck’s hands pause. “Me?” he asks, bemused.

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

It takes Donghyuck nary a second before he gets the reference, and then he chuckles, “Quoting Shakespeare at me now? A right Romeo you are.”

“That’s the extent of A-Level English I remember, truthfully,” Jeno admits sheepishly. “But it’s not the title I like, it’s—” he cuts himself off before he can confess something too honest. “You can call me anything and I’d like it because it comes from your mouth.”

It’s too much, too sincere. Jeno thinks it’s a mistake as soon as he says it. They haven’t spoken about what they are. Jeno doesn’t even know what this is. He doesn’t know what Donghyuck wants or what Donghyuck means to him. In a way, Jeno doesn’t want to know. He’s better off not knowing—plausible deniability.

He doesn’t want to rock the boat by bringing it up. He doesn’t even know whether Donghyuck is single, not that Jeno is in any position to demand anything of him. It’s enough that he has this, it’s enough that he gets to see Donghyuck, even for just a little. He doesn’t want to disrupt the status quo, not when it’s all going so well.

Donghyuck doesn’t respond. Panicking, Jeno stands up and turns around, about to make a joke out of it—to laugh it off—when Donghyuck yanks at his collar, pulling him close, and then they’re kissing.

It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, but Jeno’s heart pounds like it is, more nervous than when he had his first kiss at eighteen. Donghyuck backs him against the hardwood of his desk. Jeno pushes away his documents, spreading his legs to accommodate Donghyuck, who presses up against him like he can’t get close enough.

Donghyuck’s kisses are addictive; they must be laced with some kind of drug, because it’s the only logical reason why Jeno has dreamt about kissing him for these past weeks. Every time Donghyuck kisses him, Jeno wants more.

“There’s no one like you, is there?” Donghyuck asks.

Jeno whines, carding a hand through Donghyuck’s stupidly handsome long hair to tug him back, chasing after his lips once more.

“For a lawyer,” Donghyuck giggles. “You’re not very good with your words, aren’t you pet?”

Donghyuck’s laugh turns into a gasp when Jeno—in uncharacteristic boldness—bites on his bottom lip none too gently before easing the sting by lapping at it kittenishly with his tongue. Jeno sucks the fullness between his lips and releases it with a pop, repeating the action a few times as Donghyuck moans, clutching him tighter.

Jeno leans back, smiling in satisfaction when he sees how Donghyuck’s eyes are glazed over and his cheeks are flushed—just like how he looked in the throes of pleasure, though that’s a dangerous line of thought to pursue.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you to T&Cs?” he says the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

Donghyuck stares at him, confused, before his eyes visibly brighten and then he snorts, pitching forward with the force of his laugh. “ _T &Cs_? God, that was so bad.”

Jeno grins, unable to help himself. “Oh, come on, that was pretty funny!” He holds Donghyuck by the waist, his hands beneath the blazer. Jeno smiles even more when Donghyuck’s lips visibly twitch.

“That’s so bad,” Donghyuck insists, his eyes shining. “It’s so bad it deserves a punishment.”

Jeno raises an eyebrow, staring into Donghyuck’s mischievous eyes. Jeno is no purveyor of pornography, but he can recognise a bad line when he hears it. Donghyuck, though, looks unrepentant.

“May I remind you of the judgement in _R v Brown_?”

Without missing a beat, Donghyuck retorts, quickfire, “Are you seeking a punishment so severe that I shall be found guilty of inflicting grievous bodily harm with or without a weapon and assault occasioning actual bodily harm in sections 20 and 47 of the Offences Against the Person Act 1861?”

Jeno stares at him for a moment, wondering just how Donghyuck is possible, how he could have known just what Jeno meant. “How do you even remember the _R v Brown_ sentence after so many years?”

“How could I forget the House of Lords judgement which convicted five homosexual men for actual bodily harm due to sadomasochistic sexual practices that each of them consented to?” Donghyuck snorts. “To quote Lord Templeton, ‘Society is entitled and bound to protect itself against a cult of violence. Pleasure derived from the infliction of pain is an evil thing. Cruelty is uncivilised.’”

“It’s a delicate line to balance a lawless, laissez-faire approach versus a paternalistic nanny state,” Jeno says. “Article 8 of the European Convention of Human Rights gives us a right to respect for one’s private and family life, subject to restrictions that are in accordance with law and necessary in a democratic society.”

Donghyuck notes, “You do that very well—saying something without indicating your opinion.” With how Jeno is sitting on the desk, they’re at the same eye-level. “You can give me your honest thoughts, you can disagree with me, and that’s okay. There is no right answer. I won’t like you any less because you think differently.”

Jeno doesn’t even notice that; how he says things without saying anything. It’s habitual to let other people’s words wash over him, to smooth his edges to suit them. It’s easier to follow people’s lead rather than to think on his own. It’s not like Jeno has much of an opinion. Better to be silent and enjoy the peace than to incite a fight.

“I…” Jeno feels discomfited, more exposed now than he was minutes prior. “I don’t know much about criminal, but I… I think we might have to view his words within the context of his time, which is the early 90s when the AIDS epidemic was wreaking havoc and there was no cure in sight. The overarching principles of the sentencing guidelines which judges consult are the protection of the public and reduction by deterrence.”

“You’re hinting at a side but you’re still not saying it,” Donghyuck touches Jeno’s cheek, “but it’s okay. I won’t force you to say anything when you’re not ready.”

“But I suppose you’re right about context,” Donghyuck continues, moving on. “It must have been frightening to see a pandemic happen on the other side of the pond, worried that it might spread. Deterrence is a worthy goal, but law should be consistent. The rule of law is that _all_ men are subject to the same law; equality before the law.”

“Of course,” Jeno says. It was a concept that dated back to the Magna Carta in the 13th century, an ideology that any first year law student had to learn.

“So they say—all men are equal, but some men are more equal than others.”

He tries to recall where he’s heard of that. “Orwell? I presume you don’t speak of communism and capitalism.”

“No,” Donghyuck chuckles. “In this case, it’s homophobia. The rule of law makes it clear. All men are equal before the law—the Monarch withstanding, _Dieu et Mon Droit_ is the motto after all—and so the law should be consistent. If they want a paternalistic, interfering nanny state, then so be it. But it should apply to all. Instead, _R v Brown_ distinguishes itself from a line of precedent, in part because the defendants are homosexual.”

“Antiquated Law Lords being homophobic in the 90s during the age of the AIDS pandemic—what a surprise,” Jeno says dryly. “Please, do substantiate.”

“In _R v Brown_ , the question was where A wounds or assaults B occasioning him actual bodily harm in a sadomasochistic encounter, does the prosecution have to prove lack of consent on the victim before they can establish the defendant’s guilt? In other words, was the consent of the victims a material defence?”

Jeno replies, “We know it was ultimately ruled that volenti non fit injuria was no defence.”

“Right. But if we contrast this to _R v Wilson_ , where the defendant branded his initials on his wife’s buttocks with a hot knife and the area became infected which required hospital treatment. He too was charged with actual bodily harm in s47 OAPA, but in this instance the wife’s consent was valid because it was like tattooing rather than the infliction of pain for sexual gratification.”

Jeno hums thoughtfully, “While there is a sexual undertone, _Wilson_ does fall more within the cosmetic enhancement category rather than an explicitly sexual, sadistic act. It doesn’t seem directly comparable.”

“Perhaps, if not for how the court held that consensual activity between husband and wife in the privacy of the matrimonial home is not a matter of the courts.” Donghyuck says flatly. “There’s also _R v Slingsby_ , where the male defendant penetrated the victim’s vagina with his fingers while wearing a signet ring.”

Jeno winces. He looks at his hands, his neatly trimmed nails and the conspicuous lack of any rings.

“I suppose you can tell how _that_ went down,” Donghyuck snorts, rolling his eyes. “He accidentally cut her, and the victim died after developing septicaemia. The defendant was convicted of manslaughter under s20 and 47 of the OAPA.”

Pushing aside thoughts of internal bleeding, Jeno says, “But a criminal offence requires actus reus and mens rea, the guilty act and the guilty mind. It was never contested in _Brown_ that the defendants intended their actions, i.e. to carry out the harm. _Slingsby_ , however, wouldn’t have had the requisite mens rea if it were accidental.”

“The court evidently thought so,” Donghyuck huffs a laugh. “Even though _Slingsby_ resulted in a death, a greater harm than what happened in _Brown_ , the court ruled the action was not assault in circumstances where no harm was intended as the mens rea wasn’t present. As such, the appeal was allowed and the conviction overturned.”

“You don’t think it’s fair,” Jeno notes, looking at his expression.

“Astute observation, Sherlock,” He pokes Jeno’s cheek. “I think the Law Lords in the 90s had confirmation bias and sought to use these narrow distinctions as a tool for morality against homosexual relationships.”

“Fair enough. Though for how sensationalist this case is, it’s unlikely another will appear where the defendants will be guilty of a crime that they consented to considering this case only came to be because police received a videotape of these sadomasochistic sessions and investigated on obscenity charges.”

After a moment, Jeno laughs, still incredulous. “I can’t believe you remember these cases verbatim though. How do you even know about _Slingsby_? It’s not even that high up a case.”

“I might have gotten fingered by a guy who wore a signet ring.” Donghyuck grins deviously when Jeno’s eyes widen. “He removed it before the act, and I asked him about it later. He cited this case.”

Jeno tries not to think about Donghyuck getting fingered, choking out, “I suppose that would form a lasting impression.”

“No shit,” Donghyuck laughs. “It’s as memorable as my crusty white fossil of a professor saying,” he adopts an overly stiff RP accent reminiscent of Prince Charles, “men who participated in homosexual relations of sadomasochistic nature such as the nailing of the foreskin of a penis to a board, the insertion of hot wax into the urethra, the burning of the penis with candle wax, and the incising of the scrotum with a scalpel to the effusion of blood.” He says derisively, “It was quite a shock to me that these antiques knew sex beyond _missionary_.”

Jeno can’t stifle his giggles, “Many of them are married, you know.”

“Are they?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. “Genuinely, I cannot be sure. I am uncertain whether my professors know that sexual relations indulged for the sake of sensual desire rather than procreation could ever exist.”

Jeno throws his head back in laughter at Donghyuck’s barbed remark. “Perhaps their passion lies in their field rather than towards their spouse?”

“Then I pity them. As if there was ever a day that their poor wives were pleased,” Donghyuck smirks. “What do you think they do? Lie on their backs and think of England? Sing God Save the Queen in their heads? Recite Bible verses?” He nails a stare at Jeno, “For that matter, have _you_ ever pleased your wife?”

Jeno’s laughter abruptly peters out. Heat blooms across his face and he can’t look at Donghyuck.

Flustered, he fumbles, “Um… I- you’re very forward. No comment.”

“Is that a denial, Mr. Lee?” Donghyuck’s sugary tone drips with poison. “Section 34 of the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994 enables me to draw adverse inferences from your words.”

Jeno tilts his head, trying to stare Donghyuck head on. “And you know very well section 38(3) prevents a defendant from being convicted solely on the basis of an adverse inference drawn from silence. There has to be a prima facie case against them first.” He locks eyes with Donghyuck, the tips of their noses almost touching. “And you know there’s no case. May I remind you that you are a first-hand witness to my ability?”

Donghyuck swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but his voice is even when he says, “You mistake my query. I asked whether you pleased your wife. To compare men and women would be to contrast apples with oranges.”

It occurs to Jeno that this might be Donghyuck’s way of asking about the sex life between Yeeun and him. He feels uncomfortable thinking of Yeeun when he’s with Donghyuck, so he mumbles, “It’s been… it’s been more than a month since I was last with her. I hope to have pleased her. It should be a crime to be a selfish lover.”

Donghyuck appraises him. Jeno can tell the moment he parses through his words because Donghyuck’s eyebrows lift before he composes himself.

“You know,” Donghyuck says casually, though his eyes _blaze_ with intensity. “I think it’s a damn shame that you aren’t getting _fucked_ every single day. It should be a crime that someone as gorgeous as you isn’t getting the orgasms you deserve.”

Jeno barely suppresses a gasp, red flushing through his cheeks.

“Yeah?” Jeno says, his tongue peeking out before he licks his lips. “Would you care to rectify that then?”

“I’d thought you’d never ask.”

It’s crazy. It’s insane. They’re in his _office,_ for God’s sake. Yes, it’s late, but he can’t be sure that it’s empty. The walls are decently thick—Jeno only hears vague noises when Doyoung’s clients launch expletive filled rants at him—but Donghyuck makes him _loud_. Human Resources will not be pleased with Jeno at all if they’re discovered; he tries to remember what the protocol is on cross-departmental relationships, but as Donghyuck inches close to him, Jeno’s brain switches off, all his senses hyper focusing on the man in front of him.

When Donghyuck kisses him, Jeno understands why men would go mad for pleasure, why they would waste their days away, sacrifice their productivity for the feeling of skin against skin.

“I should be working, we have to tell Clinton about…” He loses the rest of his sentence when Donghyuck kisses behind his ear, Jeno’s Achilles heel that Donghyuck often likes to abuse.

“Then work,” Donghyuck whispers, running his hands across Jeno’s chest, squeezing his biceps and removing Jeno’s blazer. “No one’s stopping you.”

“What?” Jeno asks, blinking confusedly, watching Donghyuck plop down onto Jeno’s large office chair. He thought they were going to… “How am I to—”

Donghyuck yanks Jeno forward by the tie, pulling him off the desk and spinning him around so he sits on Donghyuck’s lap.

“Like this,” Donghyuck says, pushing the chair forward so they’re right in front of the computer.

From the darkened reflection of Jeno’s huge monitor, he sees that he almost completely covers Donghyuck, only his arms visible from where they wrap around Jeno’s waist.

“You want me to type out an email like this?” Jeno looks behind him to see Donghyuck’s sly expression.

“You said you’re a professional,” Donghyuck retorts, pressing close-mouthed kisses to the column of Jeno’s neck. “Consider this a test of your self-control. Go on, you don’t want to keep Clinton waiting.”

With shaky fingers, Jeno goes to log back into his account, bringing up his Outlook to where he had been drafting an email. He was halfway through before he got distracted, and now Donghyuck wants him to finish it while actively distracting him?

“You severely test my self-control,” Jeno whimpers when Donghyuck sucks Jeno’s earlobe between his teeth, tugging it lightly, making Jeno feel like his stomach has dropped to his feet. “Hyuck…”

“Don’t you remember? Good behaviour merits reward, pet.”

Jeno takes a deep breath, his chest expanding, and then he reaches for his keyboard, beginning to type. He’s just about able to ignore the light pecks at the back of his neck, but when Donghyuck’s hands slip beneath his shirt, Jeno clenches and makes a typo on the email.

Donghyuck’s hands don’t move any further. They remain spread across Jeno’s stomach, his palms splayed wide, tapping a slow rhythm across the individual lines of Jeno’s abs. Jeno can practically feel Donghyuck’s smile as he places his head on Jeno’s shoulder, watching Jeno backspace and correct the typo.

Just as Jeno thinks he can do this, Donghyuck’s nails—short and blunt—trail down the line of Jeno’s obliques to his navel, playing with smattering of hair in his happy trail, and Jeno hisses at the half ticklish, half pleasurable sensation.

Then, Donghyuck takes it one step further. His left hand remains over Jeno’s tummy, but his right reaches down for Jeno’s belt. Even one-handed, Donghyuck’s movements are sure, and Jeno’s stomach is clenched in knots as he watches Donghyuck pop open the steel buckle of his leather belt.

Donghyuck isn’t even _touching_ Jeno but he feels Donghyuck’s phantom touch over his crotch, the way he undoes the button and pulls down the zipper. Jeno tenses even more, but Donghyuck whispers, “ _Breathe, pet._ ”

Jeno attempts to follow Donghyuck’s words, his trembling hands returning to the keyboard to type out a sentence, but then Donghyuck slides his hands down Jeno’s trousers, palming him a few times. The tempo of his typing stutters, but he tries to push on, staring desperately at his computer as he tries to finish the email. When Donghyuck pushes his hand into Jeno’s briefs, he inhales sharply as Donghyuck curls his fingers around Jeno’s cock, pulling it out of his underwear.

“Oh God,” he takes a shuddering breath, head tipping back, unable to find the strength to hold himself straight.

Donghyuck moves his fingertips gently over his length from the base to the tip. His hand is dry and hot, so the initial drag is a bit rough, but Donghyuck swirls his finger around Jeno’s slit which makes him spit out more precum. Jeno squirms in sensitivity as Donghyuck toys with the head, his hips jumping as Donghyuck traces the veins along the top.

Donghyuck moves his left arm to wrap around Jeno’s waist more securely, holding him up to his chest.

“Stay still, pet,” Donghyuck kisses the expanse of Jeno’s neck, nipping at the skin beneath his Adam’s apple. “Come on, you’re almost done with the email. Just a little more, okay?”

Jeno feels a trickle of sweat bead down his forehead. He wants to protest that it’s too much, that he can’t think coherently when Donghyuck is with him, but he also doesn’t want to disappoint him. His chest heaves as he sits up straight, the action more laborious than running a triathlon, and he tries to write the conclusion.

When Donghyuck starts to move his hand down Jeno’s shaft, Jeno pants. His grip is maddeningly light, too slow to be anything but teasing, and Jeno wiggles around, trying to lift his hips up to get more friction.

That’s when Donghyuck hooks his feet around Jeno’s ankles, pushing them apart as wide as the rolling chair allows. He slots the tips of his shoes around the table legs of the desk, essentially locking them in a splits-like position. Jeno gasps as Donghyuck practically shoves his legs wide, his thighs burning from being turned out. Even when he strains his legs, Donghyuck doesn’t relent; when Jeno tries to move, his hips jerk slightly, but Donghyuck’s arm is a band of steel around his waist. This position leaves Jeno spread open, renders him immobile. Despite Jeno’s muscles, he can’t do anything. It’s the first time he’s been this helpless. Jeno grips the edge of the desk tightly, unable to hold back his whines as Donghyuck wrests the control from him.

“Hyuck,” he moans, his head leaning on Donghyuck’s shoulder as his hips squirm. Donghyuck places a kiss over his jaw, his right hand moving steadily up and down, the glide easy from the precum that Jeno produces.

“Feel good, pet?” Donghyuck asks, his voice husky, a sign that he too was affected by this. “Will you think about this later when you’re working at this desk, about how I jerked you off here? Will you get hard over it?”

Jeno whines—his voice hitching up and breaking—at the mental image. His legs shake from the strain of being held open, his breath comes out in short pants, and it’s all so much. “You- you’re awful.”

“That’s not very kind,” He coos saccharinely. “Here I am, pleasing you, and you say this to me?” As if to emphasise his words, Donghyuck thumbs his slit while using the rest of his fingers to stroke him up and down, and then he reaches up with his left hand, nails dragging over Jeno’s abs bluntly and then pinching his nipple.

The slight pain only heightens the pleasure. Jeno gets out a broken, “I’m going to come.”

Donghyuck kisses his shoulder, a sweet press of the lips over the cotton fabric that’s at odds with his actions, and says, “That’s okay, pet. I want you to come.”

He starts tugging at Jeno’s cock even faster, the glide wet and smooth, the lewd _schlick_ sound audible despite Jeno’s heavy breathing from how rapidly Donghyuck was jerking him off. With a few more pumps and sharp tight circles around the slit, the high crashes into Jeno and he falls apart with a long whine, his hips stuttering as Donghyuck strokes him through the waves of pleasure.

Jeno only realises that he had closed his eyes when he opens them, blinking away bright spots from his vision. His entire body feels warm and boneless as Donghyuck removes his hands and frees his ankles.

“Sorry about that,” Donghyuck says, his voice raspy.

“Hmm?” Jeno asks, bemused as to why Donghyuck was apologising after giving him the best handjob he had ever received in his life.

“I didn’t think ahead,” Donghyuck says sheepishly. “I knew you wouldn’t want to spray cum over your desk so I pulled your shirt over, so now that’s sort of stained.”

Jeno glances down to see that his shirt was indeed soiled, strings of semen tacky on the underside of his shirt. He can’t bring himself to care though, not when his body feels light from the orgasm. “That’s okay,” he says carelessly. “I’ll get it laundered at the office dry cleaners. I have another in my locker, anyways.”

In the meantime, he grabs a couple of tissues from the box he has on the desk, removing what he can and throwing it in the rubbish bin. As he sits up to tug his underpants and trousers back on, Donghyuck hisses sharply through his breath, sounding pained. Jeno looks behind him, realising that the hard line against his bum is Donghyuck’s hard-on.

Jeno stands up, looking at Donghyuck’s face, seeing how he’s sweaty and flushed and how his eyes are rather blown away, but he still smiles at him softly. Jeno can’t help himself, leaning down to kiss Donghyuck, sweet and slow as he tries to recover his heart rate. When he pulls back, Donghyuck’s eyes are still shut, a blush high on his cheeks and Jeno’s heart thumps dangerously. It’s the post-orgasm fuzzy feeling, he identifies.

“Let me help you with that,” Jeno says, reaching for Donghyuck’s trousers.

Donghyuck stops him, gripping Jeno’s wrists lightly and shaking his head. “You don’t have to.”

“You don’t want me to give you a blowjob?”

Donghyuck’s Adam apple bobs. “Well, when you say it like that. I mean, any man would want a blowjob.”

“I’m not talking about any man though.” Jeno tilts his head, gazing at Donghyuck. “I’m talking about you.”

Donghyuck holds his stare, his eyes sharpening. “Have you ever given a blowjob before?”

“Well, no, but…” Jeno runs his eyes over Donghyuck, his legs spread invitingly in Jeno’s own leather office chair. “I’m a fast learner.”

He stills looks a bit hesitant, “It’s not- well, a blowjob is different, you know? At least with a handjob you’ve had practice with your own. I don’t suppose you go around sticking phallic shaped objects down your throat?”

Jeno snorts. “You’re an idiot,” he declares fondly. “No, I don’t stick phallic shaped objects down my throat, but I’m not going to attempt to deep throat you.”

“I just…” Donghyuck bites his lip and Jeno reaches out to press against his bottom lip, making him release it before he breaks skin. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He says finally, “I’m not a woman.”

It takes him a moment before he understands what Donghyuck is trying to say. He had fucked Donghyuck in Budapest, but anal sex isn’t gender exclusive. A handjob isn’t unfamiliar too because Jeno himself has a dick. But a blowjob? Well, that’s entering into gay sex territory because Jeno isn’t flexible enough to try it on himself. Donghyuck is warning him in a way that this is the point of no return.

“I’ve thought about blowing you ever since Budapest,” Jeno confesses, immediately amending that by adding, “it’s just that you’re a terrible man-spreader and it’s like you make it so obvious that it’s there and I’ve just—” He cuts himself off, feeling the flush of his face seep to his ears.

Donghyuck, however, looks delighted. The grin on his face promises Jeno that this will be something that he never forgets, and Jeno is already regretting speaking, seeing how Donghyuck looks way too smug already.

“Do you now?” he asks, eyes gleaming like the cat that got the canary. “Why, if you—”

Jeno, tired of Donghyuck’s insistent rambling, gets on his knees. That makes Donghyuck instantly shut up.

Jeno smiles ever so slightly, amused by Donghyuck’s wide eyes, the way his chest visibly heaves even if Jeno hasn’t even done anything.

“I wonder if you’ll get in more trouble for breaking into my office or for inappropriate relations after hours?” Jeno muses, as if they were just talking about the weather.

“Oh my God, is this happening? Am I dreaming?” Donghyuck mutters to himself, staring at Jeno like he thinks he’s hallucinating. He pats Jeno’s hair, muttering, “Oh my God, it is happening.”

Jeno leans forward, resting his elbows on the chair in the space between Donghyuck’s legs, cradling his head with his hands and looking up at Donghyuck. “So you’ve dreamt of something like this before?”

Donghyuck snaps his mouth shut with an audible click, a red flush spreading even more over him. _God_ , he’s exquisite. Jeno never thought he’d see the sight of Donghyuck Lee—always so self-assured with three spare witty retorts up his sleeve—so flustered.

“No comment,” he huffs instead, looking away to stare at the trope office art that hangs in Jeno’s office before his eyes dart back to him like he can’t help himself. Jeno smiles back at him sweetly.

“Oh fuck you,” Donghyuck snaps, almost pouting. “Do you know how unfair you are? All focused and sexy, your shirtsleeves rolled up to show those two stupid muscular arms, walking around looking so fucking tempting! Do you know how many times I’ve had to stop myself from jumping you?” He rants, running a hand through his hair, looking stressed.

Jeno does his best not to smile; he only pats Donghyuck’s thighs reassuringly, which, in hindsight, only makes him tenser. “There, there. I appreciate your honesty.”

“Oh my God,” Donghyuck exhales roughly. “You are no good for my blood pressure.”

“Maybe you should consider upping your insurance premium?” Jeno suggests, gently massaging the meat of Donghyuck’s thighs, which he discovers is all firm muscle.

“If I do, you should contribute to it,” Donghyuck swallows, looking down at him with dark eyes.

“Eh?” Jeno makes a confused noise. “Why so?”

“Considering you’re the source of my cardiovascular problems, you should pay for it. My poor heart can’t withstand you, Jeno Lee.”

It’s dangerously close to a confession, even disguised as a joke. He pretends he doesn’t hear the trembling in Donghyuck’s voice, reasons it as a reaction from how Jeno has smoothed his hands up Donghyuck’s thighs, reaching for the cold metal of his leather belt.

“Then it’s mutual, considering that you’re not very good for my health too.” Jeno says quietly, his hands playing with the clasp of the buckle.

“You’re a disciple of good health and good living. Ought you not… prune bad habits?”

Jeno goes silent, realising that his answer now might change everything.

“Apparently, moments of indulgences are normal in diets, especially long term ones.”

Donghyuck extends a hand, cupping Jeno’s cheek so that he looks up at him. “Cheat days, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Something passes between them; an understanding, an acknowledgement, the knowledge that this is _something_.

“Well, I live a life of vice,” Donghyuck says, carefully casual. “I hope I’m not corrupting you from the straight and narrow.”

It’s the final warming.

“Believe me, there’s no place I’d rather be.” Jeno says, on his knees in front of Donghyuck.

As if to emphasise his words, Jeno unzips Donghyuck’s trousers, raising an eyebrow when he sees the sizeable strain and the wet stain on the front of his grey boxer briefs. Jeno licks his lips as he touches Donghyuck’s cock over the fabric, from the tip to the base. He tries to build up confidence as he runs his hands over the length, going down to gently cup his balls. He presses a finger to the dark patch on the briefs—the slit of Donghyuck’s cock—and a light rub causes the stain to spread as Donghyuck leaks even more.

Donghyuck’s breath hitches, “Oh Lord have mercy.”

Jeno leans forward, feeling absurdly nervous for no reason. He presses close-mouthed kisses along the length of his cock, just getting used to the size and girth of it, like it’s a practice run for the real act. He nuzzles his nose against it and Donghyuck sighs, running a hand through Jeno’s combed back hair, and Jeno peers up at him.

Donghyuck seems ruined and Jeno hasn’t even touched him properly, a sentiment that lends him the confidence to pull his underpants down. He takes a deep breath when he’s face-to-face with Donghyuck’s cock. It’s not foreign to him, but it’s the first time Jeno’s been afforded the opportunity to look at it closely.

Donghyuck’s cock is swollen and flushed pink, girthy and thick with prominent veins running up the sides. It’s different from Jeno’s cock, which is longer but less wide. What catches his attention the most is that Donghyuck is _wet_ , strands of pearly precum dripping from the tip already. As he watches, he sees another drop beading from the tip, and Jeno extends his tongue to take a tentative lick.

It’s salty and rather bitter, Jeno thinks, smacking his lips, it’s not delicious but not repulsive, so he goes to do it again. He makes a little flicking motion with the soft part of his tongue, lapping at the slit which produces even more precum. It starts to drip beyond the head down to the shaft and Jeno just catches it at the underside of the tip, and Donghyuck hisses, his thighs tensing. It seems like it’s a good area, so Jeno repeats the motion, using the tip of his tongue up and down, side to side, and in circles to see what Donghyuck likes the most.

“God, you’re messy,” Donghyuck groans suddenly, reaching a hand to cup Jeno’s chin, wiping his face.

Jeno realises that with his tongue out, he’s been dripping saliva all over Donghyuck’s shaft, and he laughs embarrassedly. The puff of air, however, makes Donghyuck shiver, so Jeno does it again.

“You’re really driving me bonkers,” Donghyuck pants out, moving his hand from Jeno’s chin to his cheek, tapping his cheekbone almost affectionately despite his words.

Deciding that Donghyuck has been patiently suffering for too long, Jeno bites the bullet and opens his mouth, wrapping his lips around Donghyuck’s cock completely. He suckles at the tip first, the middle rougher part of his tongue on the underside of Donghyuck’s cock, trying to get used to the feel of it inside his mouth.

Donghyuck’s cock feels hot and smooth in his mouth, less rigid than he thought and much larger around his lips than he expected just from looking at it. It throbs in Jeno’s mouth, so he places a hand at the base of Donghyuck’s cock, holding it secure, and then starts lowering his head down a bit.

“Watch your teeth,” Donghyuck says helpfully, his voice husky.

Jeno hums to indicate he’s listening, and the vibration makes Donghyuck quiver a little, so Jeno places his free hand on Donghyuck’s thigh to prevent him from moving around too much. Jeno wraps his lips around his teeth to act as a barrier, hollowing his cheeks to make an ‘o’ shape as he goes down on Donghyuck’s cock. The tight suction of his lips catches on the ridge of Donghyuck’s cock where the head joins the shaft, and he sucks on it, hearing Donghyuck moan, low and drawn out.

He does this a few more times, bobbing his head up and down, going deeper each time as he gets more familiar with the sensation. Donghyuck’s pleasured pants encourage Jeno even more so he goes further, until the tip of his cock hits the soft roof of Jeno’s mouth, causing him to choke. Jeno’s gag reflex kicks in, throat constricting over Donghyuck’s length, which makes him groans loudly, hips jerking up like he wants to fuck into Jeno’s mouth. Jeno has to pull off, his eyes watering and panting for breath.

“You alright?” Donghyuck looks at him in concern, thumbing beneath Jeno’s watery eyes. “You’re doing so well, it’s okay, I can—”

“No, I can do it.” Jeno says hoarsely, his voice rough.

He decides to play it safe though, letting his jaw rest. Instead, he uses a finger to hold Donghyuck’s cock to his belly. Then he leans in, giving light pecks and kissing his way down from the tip, to the shaft, to the base and—after glancing up at Donghyuck for permission, who is staring at him with dark, enraptured eyes—he mouths at his balls, hearing how Donghyuck keens highly.

Then, he does the reverse and uses the flat of his tongue to make a continuous lick from his balls to the tip. Jeno does this several times, his mouth open and saliva dripping, making Donghyuck’s cock—already wet with lots of precum—even more sloppy.

Knowing not to attempt more than he can take, Jeno moves his right hand to the base of Donghyuck’s cock, an easy glide from the amount of fluid that puddles on his length. Jeno jerks him off a few times before taking him into his mouth again, but this time, he presses the tip of Donghyuck’s cock against the velvety soft lining of his cheek, wiggling it against the hot cavern of his mouth rather than taking him deeply.

Donghyuck seems to enjoy that a lot, groaning gutturally and placing a hand into Jeno’s hair, not pushing him but just gripping the strands of his hair.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this.” Donghyuck’s thighs shake, his hips jerking a little, and Jeno has to use his free hand to hold him down once again.

Jeno moans in response to the praise, his hand moving even faster, the slurping, wet sound in the office frankly obscene.

“Oh pet, Jeno, ah fuck,” Donghyuck babbles incoherently, pulling Jeno’s hair harder which makes him whimper at the edge of pain. “Ah fuck, I’m going to come. Get off—argh!”

Jeno pulls his mouth off, peering up at him from beneath his lashes. He feels Donghyuck’s cock throbbing hotly, beads of precum dribbling out of him uncontrollably, puddling to the base of his cock and down to his balls. Jeno gets an idea—with his free hand, he goes to cup Donghyuck’s balls, just gently massaging them, and he runs his index finger on the patch of skin behind his balls, rubbing it lightly.

Donghyuck’s reaction is instantaneous and explosive.

With a muffled shout of Jeno’s name, he comes—his stomach clenching in and his hips jerking outwards. Jeno looks at Donghyuck in awe, the way he has his head tipped back, hair matted to his forehead, sweat beading down his neck into his shirt, a high flush extending down to his chest, and the alluring sounds he makes as he comes. Donghyuck’s cock pulsates and ribbons of white shoot out of him—splashing across Jeno’s hands, his arms and even on his shirt.

When Donghyuck finally opens his eyes, he smiles slowly at Jeno, satisfied like a big cat after a nap in the sun. He parts his mouth and Jeno leans forward to kiss him, lips moving lazily together. Donghyuck tucks an errant lock of stray hair before Jeno’s ears, his eyes still hazy from lust but soft all the same, and Jeno’s heart stutters.

“My darling pet,” Donghyuck says, his voice gravelly and hoarse from the orgasm. “You are so good.”

Jeno blushes, feeling shyer now than he did when he was giving him a blowjob. Donghyuck reaches forward to get a handful of tissues to give to Jeno to wipe his hands while he goes to make himself decent.

Donghyuck offers his hands to Jeno to help him stand up. Jeno accepts, wincing when his knees protest after a long period of kneeling. Donghyuck brushes a hand through his hair, looking at Jeno fondly, and then he leans forward to kiss him with no care to where Jeno’s mouth has been.

Jeno sighs into the kiss, knowing that there’s truly no other place he’d rather be.

Every lawyer knows about the slippery slope argument, where one small step leads to a chain of related events culminating in a significant negative consequence. It’s the opening of the floodgates, the dam bursting open to allow all that’s been held back to come gushing out.

Jeno could have written off Budapest as something he imagined from the copious amounts of sweet Tokaji wine he drank—a fever dream he had in a hotel room. It could have remained a distant memory, a summer rendezvous he had when his mind was addled by the Hungarian heat.

But that one night in the office was the snowball that triggered an avalanche.

It starts out innocently enough, as most things are.

Jeno is at the office pool for his morning workout. Despite having a state-of-the-art pool in the office building, he often finds himself commanding sole use of it. Jeno rather enjoys this alone time before the hustle and bustle of the workday—the glide of the water against his body, the sound of his arms cutting through the water, the silence of his thoughts, and the beautiful view of the Thames beyond the infinity pool, as if he’s swimming to it.

Of course, he quickly changes his minds about the benefits of being alone when he’s paid a visit.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Jeno swims to the edge of the pool, lifting his mirrored goggles as if they were the cause of the mirage. “Donghyuck?” he asks, blinking water from his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a Wednesday, so I thought I’d find you here,” Donghyuck replies, placing his backpack down on the sun lounger before he walks over to the pool with no concern for his leather oxfords.

“You remember my schedule?” Jeno asks, his surprise creeping into delight.

Donghyuck sniffs, folding his arms. “Anyone would pick it up after weeks of good morning texts where you say ‘off to the gym!’ or ‘pool day, today’ like clockwork.”

Jeno smiles at the implicit confirmation. “Did you come to join me, Hyuck? You’re a bit overdressed, though.”

Donghyuck takes a few hurried steps back when he sees Jeno’s hand reaching for his ankle. “Oi, Jeno Lee! You’re welcome to try to be the next Michael Phelps but leave me out of it! I already told you my preferred form of exercise!”

Jeno laughs, amused. “I’m only halfway through. Are you really just going to sit and watch me swim laps?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Donghyuck mutters under his breath. When he sees Jeno’s questioning look, he elaborates. “Do you remember that graduate recruitment video eight years ago?”

It slowly dawns on Jeno what Donghyuck is referring to, and then he blanches. “Wait, you actually saw—”

Donghyuck snorts, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. “Saw you swim and get out of the pool like a Bond girl and proceed to stare moodily out the window? Yes, yes I did.”

If Jeno wasn’t treading water, he would have facepalmed. “I can’t believe you saw that! It’s so dumb, I don’t know why they included _that_ in the day of the life of a trainee solicitor. I can’t believe they even chose _me_.”

“Hey, you’re sexy and the pool is sexy, and we all know sex sells. It certainly enticed me to sign up.”

“Really?” Jeno raises an eyebrow sceptically and Donghyuck’s lips twitch before he laughs. Jeno sighs, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Aw pet, don’t be upset,” Donghyuck coos, walking over to the edge of the pool, sticking out a hand gingerly like Jeno is one of the stingrays in the aquarium’s petting zone. Despite Jeno’s resolve not to, he presses his cheek to Donghyuck’s hand, closing his eyes when Donghyuck thumbs his cheekbone with a gentle touch.

“It’s seven-thirty,” Donghyuck retracts his hand, causing Jeno to open his eyes. There’s a mischievous smile on Donghyuck’s face that spells trouble and Jeno’s stomach flips because he recognises that look. “If you finish your workout soon, we might have enough time to fit in my favourite type of workout.” Donghyuck wracks his eyes across Jeno’s body appraisingly, biting his bottom lip. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Jeno swears he could compete in the Olympics at the speed he swims, finishing his remaining laps at record speed. Even through the tint of his swimming goggles, he could feel Donghyuck staring at him, and even the cold temperature of the water can’t suppress the heat in his body.

When Jeno pulls himself out of the pool, water rolling down his body in trails, he removes his goggles and swim cap, running a hand through his hair. Donghyuck stands up abruptly, takes his backpack and walks to the locker room without a word.

By the time Jeno gets to the locker room, Donghyuck is nowhere to be found, but his suit and trousers hang neatly on the hook. The shower, however, is on. Jeno follows the rain song, feeling less like a predator stalking his prey and more like an entranced sailor walking to his death from a siren’s song.

Donghyuck doesn’t turn around when Jeno pushes the unlocked shower door open. The sight of the water droplets gliding down Donghyuck’s smooth skin—close to him in ways that Jeno aches to be—makes him feel more breathless than he did after fifty laps.

“Enjoying the view?” Donghyuck asks, spinning around to throw him a smirk.

“You know I do,” Jeno swallows, his fingers itching to touch Donghyuck, to kiss him, but he remains with his back to the door he locked, not daring to move closer.

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know?” Donghyuck stares at him heatedly. “I want you to touch me.”

Jeno takes two steps closer, his heart thumping in his chest.

“Take off your swim trunks.” Donghyuck commands.

Jeno feels his body stir at Donghyuck’s order. He hooks his fingers into the polyester, darting another look at Donghyuck’s face, seeing how his fists are clenched, like he’s holding himself back, and Jeno feels gratified that he’s affecting Donghyuck as much as the other way around.

He slips the shorts down his legs. As soon as he kicks the fabric away, Donghyuck is kissing him hard.

“God, you’re such a fucking braggart,” Donghyuck groans, his hand feeling up Jeno’s chest. “Walking around with those two fucking arms and your stupid abs… it should be fucking illegal. Who allowed you that?”

Jeno would laugh if he was capable of focusing on anything other than the lush feeling of Donghyuck’s lips and how his cock—rapidly stiffening—rubs against Donghyuck’s belly every time they shift. It’s not even a satisfying friction—too light and teasing—so Jeno twists, trying to get the right angle for the best pressure.

Suddenly, he feels something else against his cock, something hard and firm pressing up against him. When he looks down, Jeno feels his stomach lurch as he sees that it’s _Donghyuck’s_ cock lined up next to his, pink and swollen, precum beading at the head and smearing onto Jeno’s cock.

“You wanted that, pet?” Donghyuck murmurs into his ear, his voice husky as he nibbles on Jeno’s earlobe.

 _Fuck_. Jeno can’t believe how _wet_ Donghyuck gets, his precum getting everywhere even though the rain shower falls over them, washing it away.

“Hyuck,” he pants, his thoughts aborted as Donghyuck grinds against him slowly and methodically, kissing behind Jeno’s ear in the area that makes him weak kneed in the same exact rhythm. “I want to blow you.”

Donghyuck laughs but his voice sounds blown away. When he leans back, Jeno sees that his face is as flushed as his chest, and not just because of the hot water temperature.

“God, Jeno, your lips were made to suck cock and I’d love nothing more, but we don’t have any time,” he says, regretful. “Let’s do this instead.”

The pitter-patter of the shower drowns out the gasp Jeno emits when Donghyuck pins him against the wall, but it can’t conceal the noise he makes when Donghyuck wraps a hand around them both. Donghyuck’s hands are a bit calloused and the water washes away some of their natural lubricant, but Jeno likes the roughness. He leaks even more when Donghyuck has to squeeze their cocks lightly to accommodate their girths around his palm while he jerks them off. The feeling of his warm hand, the way Donghyuck’s cock rubs against his own, and just the positively _obscene_ sight of the precum from their hard, pink cocks mixing together makes Jeno _moan_.

“Oh God, oh fuck,” Jeno moans as Donghyuck pumps their lengths with an expert hand. His abs clench and he feels the pressure inside him build up even more; Jeno knows he’s not going to last much longer.

Donghyuck twists Jeno’s nipple none too gently and he gasps, never realising that it could feel this good. “Didn’t you say it was a crime to be a selfish lover?” Donghyuck kisses the thin skin on Jeno’s neck before sucking it between his teeth. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

It takes Jeno a moment before he can muster enough control to smooth his hand over the top of their wet, dripping cocks. He rubs the pads of his fingers firmly against the heads in small, tight circles, and Donghyuck’s breath hitches. Taking this as an encouraging sign, Jeno thumbs over their slits, where there’s a constant stream of pearly precum, making the slide slick and easy and so, so good.

“Hyuck, I’m close,” Jeno pants, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he seeks his release.

“Same,” Donghyuck grunts, his head falling to the crook of Jeno’s neck, his mouth slightly parted and his tongue laving against the meat of Jeno’s shoulder.

The end comes crashing when Jeno accidentally makes a twisting motion on the upward stroke over their weeping heads, an intense burst of electricity that has Donghyuck groaning lowly and biting on Jeno’s shoulder as he comes.

The shock of pain and the continuous waves of pleasure coursing through him triggers Jeno’s release, and he comes messily over their stomachs, moaning breathily. Donghyuck surges up to kiss him deeply, wrapping both of his hands around Jeno’s cock and wringing out every last bit of cum inside of him.

Only when Jeno whines, edging into the painful side of sensitivity does Donghyuck let go. He brings up his right hand—wet with trails of white like frosting which drip down his wrist and forearm—to his mouth, lapping it up and sucking his fingers while he stares at Jeno with a naughty glint in his eyes.

Jeno’s cock twitches minutely. “You’re… you’re _evil_.”

Jeno says before pulling Donghyuck in for a kiss. He parts Jeno’s lips, who gasps when Donghyuck pushes Jeno’s own cum back into his mouth. Jeno doesn’t mind the bitter taste; not when he’s distracted by the wet, slick feeling of Donghyuck’s tongue as it glides over his own, trading saliva and cum back and forth.

When Donghyuck pulls back, his eyes twinkle with lust and satisfaction, roaming over Jeno’s trembling figure like he did a job well done. “Wouldn’t you agree that this was the best form of exercise?”

Jeno smiles angelically. “I don’t suppose you’d be averse to joining me every morning, then?”

The look of horror on Donghyuck’s face as he scrambles to find an excuse is priceless.

Even if Jeno is late for work for the first time in his employment history, he can’t bring himself to regret it.

And so on and so forth.

When Jeno is alone for lunch because Jaemin is out with a client, he finds himself eating something of an entirely different nature in the firm’s music room—a hideout that very conveniently has soundproof walls.

When there are afternoon breaks, they meet up in disabled toilets, quick fumbling hands to provide a quick boost to get through the dreaded mid-day hour.

In the evenings, they go up to the rooftop terrace and kiss in the dying sunset, wrapped up in each other to resist the punishing wind that whirls around them, beneath the falling leaves which herald the season of death.

At night, tired from a long day of work, exhausted from staring at computer monitors and words that don’t make sense, they lie down in the office sleeping pod together. Face to face, trading slow, tender kisses, wrapped up in each other as they try to resist Morpheus’ call.

With Donghyuck, Jeno finally understands why the entire world is so obsessed with sex. Why music and literature consider it their muse. Why men would drive themselves to ruin for their lover’s touch.

Jeno thinks he might ruin himself for Donghyuck too.

**October**

For the past decade that Jeno has been running the Royal Half Parks Marathon, most of the years have been rainy. Despite being one of the least wet European capitals—drier than Amsterdam, Rome and Paris—one of the yearly average 106 rainy days always falls on this October day. It’s as if London insists on being contrary by living up to the rainy reputation that every Brit know is an exaggerated stereotype—most of the rainfall is in the Scottish Highlands and the North.

Given the cold, wet and dreary conditions, Jeno’s surprised that Donghyuck comes. He feels warm when he sees Donghyuck’s round beaming face, waving energetically from the spectator’s stand by the start funnel.

“Jeno love,” Jaemin asks, doing a bit of last-minute stretching. “Do my eyes deceive me? Is _Donghyuck Lee_ —renowned for lie-ins and moaner of weather—actually here at eight-thirty on a _weekend_?”

“It appears so,” Jeno grins at Jaemin’s comically incredulous expression. “He said he would.”

Jaemin laughs in disbelief. “On the day of Mark Lee’s doctorate ceremony, Duckie slept in and they’re best friends!”

Jeno catches a glimpse of Donghyuck, his red raincoat bright against the swathes of black and blue. The last thing he says before the airhorn sounds is “Maybe I’m special.”

The Royal Half Parks Marathon is—as its name implies—a half marathon that spans across four of the eight Royal Parks in London: Hyde Park, Green Park, St. James Park and Kensington Gardens. Jeno and Jaemin each run to raise money for their charities; Jaemin, for the children’s Great Ormond Street Hospital, and Jeno, for the Battersea Cats and Dogs Rescue.

Back in August, they completed the London Triathlon. A half marathon at 21km should be easier, but neither Jeno nor Jaemin are particularly big fans of running. Add in the fact that Jeno might have been slacking on his training schedule to be with Donghyuck, so he finds it more difficult than usual.

A marathon is very much a mental battle as it is physical. With the rain and the muddy conditions, no matter how beautiful the surroundings are, Jeno just wants it to be over with and yet there’s still more to go. But knowing that Donghyuck is here, seeing him pop up every so often by the spectator’s stand—he’s there when they run past the Houses of Parliament, then again by Trafalgar Square, then he’s at Marble Arch, Royal Albert Hall, and at last, it’s the last kilometre of the marathon.

When they’re at the final 100 metre sprint—Jeno sees Donghyuck’s red raincoat, sees his waving arms and exuberant smile, and it’s like the beacon of a lighthouse to a ship in turbulent seas.

Jeno leaps across the finishing line, hearing Donghyuck’s loud cheering from the grandstand, smiling uncontrollably as he takes the medal and shirt from a volunteer before he loops over to the spectator’s stand.

“Jeno Lee, you legend!” Donghyuck whoops. “You did it! Congratulations!” Uncaring of the fact that Jeno is a disgusting combination of sweaty and wet, Donghyuck hugs him excitedly.

“Hyuck,” Jeno grins happily, hugging him tightly. “You’re here.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Donghyuck leans back, patting Jeno’s wet hair, his brown eyes twinkling.

“No congratulations for me?”

Donghyuck’s eyes roll upwards before he turns, his smile becoming cordial. “Jaemin, congratulations. I was afraid you might slip wearing those running shoes, but here you are—a man of indomitable spirit.”

“Thank you, Duck,” Jaemin smiles, the one Jeno coined the Peacock smile—all flair and no substance. “I’m quite surprised that you made it out here. It is rather early for you.”

Donghyuck smiles politely. “I’m a changed man—I’m no longer the person you once knew.”

“Court resumes session in Michaelmas term, you must be up to your knees in work this month,” Jeno says, squeezing Donghyuck’s shoulder briefly. “Thank you for coming even though the weather is atrocious.”

It’s civil enough as they trek back to the baggage marque to collect their belongings. Jeno should have known it wouldn’t last as the rain starts to pick back up, the wind blowing hard.

“I’m wet, sweaty and smelly,” Jaemin snaps, removing his wet shirt, abs flexing as he digs into his backpack for a clean shirt. “The last thing I want to do is to go into Knightsbridge and battle lunch hour.”

“It’s raining and cold. The tents are ill-equipped to provide shelter as we eat,” Donghyuck insists, glancing back at Jaemin. “Besides, there’s a conspicuous lack of food choice here too. Aren’t you the one who said that you would rather fucking starve than eat Pret a Manger?”

Jeno snorts because that’s on brand for Jaemin, but his best friend scowls when his words are thrown in his face. “Maybe I’m a changed man too,” he retorts. “It’s been _years_ and I’m not the same person.”

“Yeah nah,” Donghyuck says derisively. “Look, restaurants outside aren’t going to take one look at your mug and refuse you entry just because you’re a bit muddy. We don’t even need to eat in Knightsbridge, we can go somewhere else in Central to eat. We can even go back up North.”

Jaemin looks irritated. “It’s the Goddamn weekend. If a place is worthy, then it’s flooded with people. And I am _not_ going to the hovel you call home—we’ll sooner swallow a knife than eat something there.”

“Now you’re just being a classist toff!” Donghyuck snaps back. “There’s nothing wrong with Finsbury Park.”

“Someone was murdered in Finsbury Park one Christmas. A year later, in the same park, they made the headlines for the earliest murder in the New Year.” Jaemin says heatedly. “ _No._ ”

“Pft you listen to sensationalist fearmongering,” Donghyuck argues back, his hands on his hips. “Just because there’s been a few bad apples doesn’t mean the whole bunch is rotten.”

“Guys,” Jeno interjects when Jaemin clenches his jaw so hard that he looks two seconds away from pulling a muscle. “I think the food tents are packing up now.” Donghyuck throws Jaemin a smug look. “I also think there are limited food options here. Look, Hampstead isn’t very far from Finsbury Park. Why don’t we eat there?”

That at least seems to appease them and they agree to go back to Hampstead for lunch.

When they’re at the carpark, Donghyuck raises an eyebrow at the sight of Jaemin’s car but very civilly holds his tongue. Jaemin charitably offers to drive Donghyuck, but he politely declines.

As soon as he’s buckled in Jeno’s car, Donghyuck snorts, “An Aston Martin DB11. Na thinks he’s James Bond, but he’s worried about a few lads in Finsbury Park looking at his car?”

Jeno smiles wryly, “I told him he was going overboard by driving that here.”

“What a pretentious prick,” Donghyuck huffs, and then side-eyes him with a quirk of his lips. “Though in all honesty, your car is not that much better. You live in London—why do you need a Range Rover? Is the terrain of the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea so perilous you need a car with off-road driving and water wading functions?”

“Hey,” Jeno protests, unable to hide a smile. “Hampstead’s located in Camden.”

“And it’s one of the top three most expensive London boroughs. Hence, the roads are very well-maintained,” Donghyuck shakes his head. “Oh my, what would your neighbours think if you drove a Vauxhall? God forbid you drive a Toyota Prius; they’ll think you’re an Uber driver.”

“You’re unbelievable. My neighbours aren’t so snobby,” Jeno laughs, before adding, “I think.”

“You _think_?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow sceptically. “Have you spoken to them before?”

“We nod when we spot each other,” Jeno huffs when Donghyuck laughs at him. “Hey! This is London, we have tacit agreement not to speak to each other.”

“It’s your neighbour, not some random Northerner on the tube,” Donghyuck sighs mock-exasperatedly. “You’re allowed to smile and ask about each other’s days without frightening your southerner sensibilities.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Jeno grins, throwing a glance at Donghyuck. “Screening hedges exist for a reason.”

Before Jeno knows it, they’re already back in the familiar waters of Hampstead. His phone buzzes with a notification and Donghyuck leans forward to check.

Donghyuck reads, “Jaemin says he’s parked already and has a table for three at Jin Kichi?”

“Oh, that’s a good choice. I wondered what he chose,” Jeno muses as they find a parking space. “Do you like Japanese? This restaurant is famous for their grilled menu.”

“Grilled fish is one of my favourites,” Donghyuck says. “I used to live in Jeju Island as a child and my mum made grilled fish a lot. It reminds me of home.” For a moment, he looks melancholic, like he’s caught in a memory, but then he shakes himself out of it with a smile. “Well, then. We mustn’t keep him waiting.”

They get out of the car and walk along the high street; past a gaggle of intimidating teenage girls in mum jeans, designer running shoes and crop tops by hip cafes, skirt around tweed wearing well-heeled ladies with coiffed hair outside of the jeweller’s, and finally arrive outside the unassuming matte black restaurant.

“After you,” Jeno pulls the door open for Donghyuck, who ducks inside.

It’s quite a small restaurant so they instantly spot Jaemin in one of the homely wooden dining booths. Even in Adidas Athleisure, Jaemin holds himself like he’s wearing Armani, effortlessly cool in a way Jeno could never emulate. Perhaps it’s the watch, a Piguet that costs more than the median British salary. Or it’s the hair, dark brown locks stylishly cut and suavely swept back. Whatever it is, Jaemin attracts attention, seeing as a woman with a waterfall of auburn hair is talking to him.

As if sensing their eyes on him, Jaemin looks up, his lips curling into a brief smirk as he spots them. Jaemin says something which makes the woman laugh before she stands up, and Jaemin kisses both of her cheeks goodbye. When she vacates the booth, she brushes past them and Jeno gets a good look at her.

Pale skin, bright green eyes, auburn hair and dressed in a sheer floral midi dress—she looks like she walked straight out of fairy-tale, a forest faerie of Celtic legend.

Donghyuck takes a seat opposite Jaemin, where the woman just vacated. Jeno hesitates on which side he wants to take before he decides to sit next to Jaemin so he can look at Donghyuck.

“Who was that?” he teases his best friend, nudging him in the ribs. “You seemed very familiar.”

“Perhaps we’ll be more familiar,” Jaemin smirks, smarmy.

Donghyuck snorts, leafing through the menu. “You sure she didn’t see you were alone and take pity on you?”

Jaemin smiles, saccharine sweet. “Duckie dear, jealousy is unbecoming on you.”

“As if I would be jealous,” Donghyuck huffs indignantly, snapping the menu close. “Aren’t women great? Look how altruistic they are to charity cases.”

The arrival of the waiter prevents Jaemin from retorting. Instead, he rattles off a quickfire order of grilled black sea bream, yellowtail jaw, black cod, wagyu steak, mixed tempura and an assortment of sashimi.

When the waiter leaves, Donghyuck says coolly, “Thanks for asking what I wanted.”

“I know this place; I ordered what was best for us,” Jaemin snaps back, annoyed. “Was there anything I chose that you didn’t like?” When Donghyuck stays mum, Jaemin rolls his eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

Jeno glances between Jaemin and Donghyuck. He tries to distract them. “So, did you get her number?”

Jaemin recovers his cheer. “I got one better. We’re going on a date tonight at Ronnie Scott’s.”

“Ronnie Scott’s? You don’t even _like_ jazz,” Donghyuck says, his voice weird.

“She mentioned liking jazz, so I said I know the perfect place!” Jaemin smiles casually.

“How did you even get tickets? It’s a _Saturday_ , they sell out weeks beforehand,” Donghyuck continues, looking at Jaemin with a strange look in his eye.

“I made a few calls.”

“You must really like her if you’re going to this extent to impress her,” Jeno comments, raising an eyebrow. “But good for you, mate. It’s been years since you’ve been on a date.”

Jaemin throws Jeno an angry look, his face going red with embarrassment, his eyes darting to Donghyuck’s. Jeno immediately grimaces, squeezing Jaemin’s hand beneath the table to convey his apology. It must be rather mortifying to have his sort-of enemy know about the details of his (lack thereof) love life.

Donghyuck stares at Jaemin for a moment, scrutinising him, while Jaemin determinedly looks down. Jeno thinks he’s going to make a comment but in a surprising move of tact, Donghyuck doesn’t press. Instead, he just looks thoughtful as he watches the chefs grill food on the hibachi plate in the middle of the restaurant.

Jaemin clears his throat, his voice forcibly blasé. “Well, she’s _Irish_ , the accent is to die for.”

“Maybe you’ll be a lucky leprechaun then,” Donghyuck mutters, but his tone is less acerbic than usual.

Luckily, the food arrives, sparing them from more awkward conversation. The rest of lunch is rather uneventful because Jaemin keeps his mouth shut, refusing to look at—much less, speak to—Donghyuck unless necessary. Donghyuck, in turn, seems to be of the mind that he’s only lunching with Jeno and that Jaemin is a potted plant. It would be amusing if it wasn’t awkward being stuck in the middle between them.

Once they finish eating, Jaemin excuses himself; only instead of following the clear signage to the toilet, he goes to the reception and pulls out his wallet.

Donghyuck mutters, “Why am I not surprised?” beneath his breath but holds his tongue when Jaemin returns.

They disperse to allow the next party in the queue their table. Standing outside the restaurant, Jaemin checks his watch, “Well, this was fun, but I must head home.”

Donghyuck clears his throat, “Thank you for lunch.”

Jaemin stares at Donghyuck’s outstretched hand as if it’s going to strangle him before reaching up to shake it.

“My pleasure.” Jaemin looks into his eyes before Donghyuck lets go. He then turns to Jeno, smiling, “Well then, here’s to another successful half-marathon. Good job, love.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, mate.” Jeno replies, accepting his hug.

After Jaemin leaves, it leaves Jeno and Donghyuck.

“Yeeun’s in Hong Kong for a business trip. She’ll be away for two weeks,” Jeno says, his hand twitching. “I’m alone in the house.” He hopes that Donghyuck gets what he’s inferring.

“Hmm that’s fun, I’d like to be taken to Hong Kong.” Donghyuck smiles mildly. “It’s a very beautiful city.”

Jeno’s eyes widen at the innuendo. He scratches the back of his head, asking, “Do you have any other plans?”

“Depends on who’s asking.”

It starts raining, a sudden outpour of rain that comes flooding down unexpectedly. A group of rowdy teenagers’ duck beneath the cover of the awning they’re under, so Jeno reaches out to pull Donghyuck close to prevent him from being lost in the crowd.

“Would you…” he averts his eyes from Donghyuck, staring at the mud splattered across his running shoes.

The city is noisy; a car beeps their horn as it speeds past, tablecloths from outdoor cafes flap as they struggle to come undone in the wind, people hurry to and fro to get away from the cold rain. But Donghyuck and him stand beneath the canopy, sheltered from the wind, and Jeno can’t focus on anything but Donghyuck.

“Since you came all the way to see us, would you like to come to my house for a game of chess?”

Jeno makes a realisation, “That is—if you play, of course. We could have cream tea, or something else.”

“Is chess what they call it these days?” Donghyuck muses, his voice a playful lilt. “I suppose it’s rather redundant to invite me over for a bowl of ramen when we just ate.”

Jeno makes a panicked noise, about to backtrack, but he loses his words when Donghyuck takes a step closer to him, until the fronts of their jackets brush and Jeno gets a whiff of his cologne, warm and heady.

“Correction,” Donghyuck murmurs, looking up into Jeno’s eyes, the expression on his face earnest. “I came all the way to see _you_. And yes, I do play, so I’d love to go to yours for a match.”

The drive to Jeno’s house takes less than ten minutes from the high street, but it feels significantly longer. Unlike the car ride before where they traded light banter, this time they’re quiet. It’s not an awkward silence, but there’s this electric current in the air, a palpable tension that neither of them dares disturb.

This feels significant, bringing Donghyuck to his home. His marital home that he shares with his wife. His wife who is conspicuously absent. An absence that Jeno is clearly taking advantage of.

Jeno swallows, his heart pounding, something weighing heavy on his chest. He glances over to Donghyuck to see that his eyes are already on him, and the pressure abates a little.

Whatever this is, Donghyuck and him, they’re in it together.

From the Criminal Law Act 1977, a conspiracy is an agreement where two or more people agree to carry their criminal scheme into effect, where the very agreement is the criminal act itself. Common Law conspiracy is to do an act which corrupts public morals or outrages public decency.

In the Accessories and Abettors Act 1861, ‘whoever shall aid, abet, counsel, or procure the commission of any indictable offence, whether the same be an offence at common law or by virtue of any Act passed or to be passed, shall be liable to be tried, indicted, and punished as a principal offender’.

Joint Enterprise is a Common Law doctrine which imputes the same level of criminal liability on all the defendants of a crime despite different levels of participation.

The crime is unambiguous, but what will they be tried for? What is the current status of their offence? Now that is open to interpretation.

Elements of a crime, unless specifically excluded, require actus reus and mens rea—the guilty act and the requisite guilty mind. Their bodies have the committed the guilty act, but the state of their minds… that remains to be seen.

But it matters not which stage they are, be it co-conspirators, accessories who aid and abet, or just plain partners in crime.

The sanctity of marriage, the purity of his vows, the bastion of his relationship with his wife—it’s forever stained. Jeno Lee had sex with someone who was not his spouse, then he plotted to bring them into his marital home, and he encouraged it by driving them there to consummate the crime—adultery.

Innocent until proven guilty.

Let the punishment fit the crime.

If the law is going to punish him for the full crime regardless of his level of participation, then let him deserve it. Let him commit the crime fully.

Jeno doesn’t know how to feel about Donghyuck being in his home. Some part of him still can’t believe that Donghyuck is _here_ , in the house that he and Yeeun share—a space that Jeno strongly associates with her since she carefully curated the entire place from the ceiling lights down to the matching kitchen appliances.

While he still can’t wrap his head around Donghyuck being here, he can’t deny that he had planned on bringing him back if the opportunity presented itself. After all, why else would Jeno have hoovered the sitting room, scrubbed the toilet, and changed the bedsheets? It’s not as if a property surveyor is paying him a visit.

After they arrived, Jeno went to take a shower because he was dirty. He felt bad having Donghyuck wait, so he invited him to take one too in the guest bathroom. Once clean, Jeno goes to the kitchen to make tea. After he fills the kettle with filtered water, he spots Donghyuck from his peripheral, dressed in a dark T-shirt and joggers that Jeno lent him. “How’d you like your tea?”

Donghyuck looks around with curious eyes like he’s still envisioning Jeno in this house, and answers, “Are you asking what kind I’d like? Am I a toff? Do I seem like the Earl Grey type?”

“I mean, we do have some,” Jeno says, opening the cupboard. “English Breakfast, Earl Grey, Darjeeling—”

“I’ll just have regular,” Donghyuck says. Even without looking, Jeno can sense that he’s amused. Jeno wonders if Donghyuck knows that he’s nervous. “Builder’s brew. A plain cuppa.”

“Of course,” Jeno’s hands are trembling so much that he has to focus on the task of filling the mugs with freshly boiled water to prevent him from spilling over himself. “Two brown sugars and a splash of milk?”

“Right in one,” Donghyuck says happily, before he stops abruptly. “Wait a second—which brand is it? Yorkshire Tea or PG Tips? Or God forbid, Twinning’s or Tetley?”

Jeno smiles, hearing the visible disgust as Donghyuck listed the latter few options. “What if I said neither? What if I said it was Harrod’s or Fortnum & Mason?”

Donghyuck places a hand on Jeno’s arm, as if to capture his attention—as if he doesn’t know that Jeno is always subliminally aware of him. “Fortnum & Mason is what you bring out if you’re trying to impress a toff. Harrod’s is for foreigners who don’t know any better.”

“You are so…” Jeno shakes his head, stirring in milk and sugar for Donghyuck’s cup. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You know I’m right!” Donghyuck insists, his eyes twinkling. “Come on, there’s only one right brand to drink.”

They stare at each other, lips twitching, and say in unison, “Yorkshire Tea.”

Donghyuck crows in delight and raises a hand for a high-five. Jeno hasn’t done such a juvenile action in years, but he can’t reject Donghyuck, smiling foolishly wide as their hands smack. Jeno says wryly, “Well, at least we established that we have the _correct_ taste in tea.”

“I can grudgingly forgive people who drink different brands of tea,” Donghyuck sighs, “but I firmly believe people who pour milk before tea should serve at Her Majesty’s pleasure. That is just _wrong_ on every level.”

Just to have a bit of fun, Jeno says, “Yeah? Some people do it for efficiency. Science also claims that adding milk before tea is better because the hot tea separates the particles of the milk.”

Donghyuck looks at him as if Jeno confessed some unforgiveable sin. He shakes his head disappointedly and then snags his mug from Jeno’s hands before speed walking into the sitting room. Jeno chuckles quietly to himself before following him at a more leisurely speed, where he finds Donghyuck seated at the leather wingback chair, examining the chess set on the coffee table.

As Jeno takes a seat opposite him, Donghyuck nails him with a stern look. “One does not save time on making the perfect cuppa. I know you M&A types think everything runs on efficiency, but good things take time.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I find being efficient rather satisfying.”

Donghyuck tuts, “Efficiency is satisfying?” He looks at Jeno from across the rim of his mug. “I rather pity your poor wife, then. What must her wedding night have been like?”

Jeno nearly spills his tea, his cheeks flooding with heat at the insinuation.

“Such kindness, Donghyuck Lee,” Jeno chokes, before he tries to recover himself. “Would you like a full and detailed retelling of the events that transpired?”

Donghyuck goes a bit pink, but he holds his ground. “Well, if it was efficient and satisfying _for you_ , I suppose two sentences ought to conclude the entire night.”

“You’re right, two sentences will conclude the night,” Jeno says, snorting at Donghyuck’s shocked expression. “We were exhausted and hungry after a full day of standing on our feet greeting guests, so we ordered room service at the hotel and fell asleep right after.” He asks mildly, “Now, would you like a biscuit with your tea?”

Donghyuck still looks faintly in disbelief so it takes him a beat to answer, “Does a starving man hunger to eat? Yes please, I’d like a biscuit.”

Jeno gets up to go to the kitchen cupboards, seeing some Chinese snacks that he doesn’t recognise. He takes the packet of biscuits that he usually eats before heading back.

“ _Ginger nut_?” Donghyuck exclaims, clutching his heart dramatically when he sees what Jeno is holding. “Everyone knows that McVities chocolate digestives are the dog’s bollocks. I’ll accept chocolate hobnobs as a healthy alternative because they’re made from oats, but ginger nut? I’ve found your fatal flaw.”

“Hey! That’s rude,” Jeno protests. “I like ginger nut! They’re firm so when you dunk it in tea, it doesn’t get soggy. It’s warm and gingery and it tastes marvellous when you suck on it and get the tea flavour!”

“With chocolate digestives, the layer of chocolate melts a little and it’s just…” Donghyuck sighs dreamily. “Okay, whatever, I suppose ginger nut is better than something like rich tea. Now that’s a biscuit better off not eaten. Or some posh nonsense like Viennese whirls or whatever.”

Jeno holds the packet of ginger nut biscuits. “You’re so mean. Do you want it or not?”

Donghyuck snatches the bag from him in response, dunking one into his tea despite his previous protests.

After they set up the chessboard, Jeno poses a question as he makes his first move, bringing his pawn to E4.

“What if I said Jaffa Cake was my favourite biscuit?”

“Oh my God, don’t,” Donghyuck groans, moving his black pawn to E5 in response. “The whole country is divided whether Jaffa Cakes constitute biscuits or cakes. I’m of the opinion they’re biscuits. They’re packaged like a biscuit, sold in the biscuit aisle, sized like a biscuit. How can it ever be a cake?”

“Because it tastes like cake!” Jeno shoots back, moving his Knight to F3. “It’s made with a layer of sponge cake and has a chocolate cap covering a veneer of orange jelly. The sponge is made from flour, sugar and eggs—the basis of cake. Plus, it goes stale like cake instead of soft like biscuits.”

Donghyuck naturally moves his Knight to C6. “McVitie’s might have won the lawsuit to have it categorised as cake for tax purposes, but it’s still a biscuit to me.”

“The government must have been furious.” Jeno moves his Bishop to C4. “The amount of revenue HMRC would have got from VAT sales if it was considered a chocolate-covered biscuit is astronomical.”

In response to that, Donghyuck moves his pawn to D6 to protect his position. “The backbone of this nation are cups of tea and biscuits. In this day and age, no one has time for cream tea.”

They both quiet as they get into the game. Jeno tilts his head, thinking about his next steps, wondering whether the manoeuvre is executional. He decides to go for it, Jeno moving his other Knight to C3, and Donghyuck counters by moving his Bishop to G4 to block him.

Jeno pauses for a moment. _In for a penny, in for a pound_ , he thinks, then advances his Knight from C3 to D5, taking Donghyuck’s pawn, and leaving himself open.

Donghyuck looks up at Jeno, who keeps his head down steadfastly. Jeno sees Donghyuck’s hands hover over his Bishop at G4 and holds his breath. He wonders if Donghyuck will do it.

 _He does_. Donghyuck moves his Bishop and goes to take Jeno’s White Queen at D1.

The most powerful piece in Jeno’s arsenal—capable of moving any number of squares, vertically, horizontally, or diagonally—now sits sadly alone on the side-lines.

Jeno exhales through his mouth. Until Donghyuck had done it, he had been afraid, but now… Jeno moves his Bishop from C4 to F7, handily taking out one of Donghyuck’s pawns.

Donghyuck stares at the chessboard for a moment, his brows furrowing as he tries to understand what he’s seeing. Finally, he moves his King to D7—the only move possible to avoid capture.

Jeno moves his Knight to D5, and—after glancing up with a smile at Donghyuck, whose eyes widen with horror as he predicts what happens next—he goes to checkmate the Black King.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Donghyuck groans, slumping against his chair and covering his eyes with his hands. “What the fuck? I feel so stupid. It was so obvious now that I think about it, like—the _Queen_? Just taken like that?”

“Don’t feel bad,” Jeno reaches over to pat him comfortingly. “Grandmasters have fallen for this trap before.”

“It’s just… ugh,” Donghyuck reaches for a biscuit and bites into it sulkily. “So totally unexpected. The Queen is the most powerful piece in the game, I didn’t think you would sacrifice her like that. People usually don’t—not when there are pawns and rooks to give up.”

“The Queen might be the most powerful, but the most important is the King. The objective of chess is to checkmate the other King. Better to sacrifice one piece than to throw away the entire board.”

“That’s the Queen though!” Donghyuck protests, still looking bewildered. “I’d rather throw away all these pawns than to give up my most powerful piece. Really, you think it’s worth it to sacrifice one for the team?”

“The greatest amount of good for the greatest number of people.” Jeno says simply. “What is one person’s suffering for the happiness of the collective?”

“Why am I not surprised you are a believer of Jeremy Bentham’s utilitarianism,” Donghyuck mutters to himself. “Why does that one person have to suffer?”

“Why must it be considered suffering?” Jeno asks in return. “If your sacrifice could make your loved ones happy, isn’t it an honour to take on this burden? Isn’t it noble to bear the pain for your loved ones?”

“Your logic turns on the fact these people you’re hurting for are your loved ones. Sometimes, they’re just a bunch of people you know. If they truly loved you, why would they throw you under the bus?”

“But if you loved and cared for them, wouldn’t you do anything for them?” Jeno frowns, steepling his fingers. “No sacrifice is too much for love. It’s good to bear the cross for the people you love. Besides, to only think of yourself is selfish. If your act could bring so much good to the world, why wouldn’t you do it?”

“Why should we have to martyr ourselves for love?” Donghyuck retorts, his eyes blazing. “Pain is not an indicator of love! We don’t have to bleed ourselves dry and walk on hot coals to show it! That’s unhealthy and twisted and _wrong_! Love should be about acceptance.”

Something splinters in Jeno’s chest—an _ache_ that he doesn’t understand. He only knows that he feels angry, for some reason, because how could Donghyuck not get it?

“How can we know love if we don’t know pain? The true test of love is the extent we would suffer for them.” Jeno says passionately. “To love is to suffer, and it is not a burden to do it. It is righteous, and it is worthy.”

Jeno doesn’t even know when he stood up, only that he has, and Donghyuck is looking at him like he is someone to be pitied, which makes the anger burn brighter in his chest.

“What have they done to you?” Donghyuck asks quietly, walking up to Jeno like he doesn’t fear his emotions. “I hope one day you’ll know that love doesn’t have to be hard work; that you don’t have to constantly exhaust yourself to the bone to prove it.”

“What? Love asks for nothing in return?” Jeno snorts cynically, feeling wildly unlike himself. “That’s not how the world operates, and you know it.”

“Maybe not,” Donghyuck allows, looking down and intertwining Jeno’s fingers with his. “But there is something—loving yourself doesn’t mean you’re betraying your loved ones. It isn’t a sin to put yourself first.”

That knocks the wind out of his sails and Jeno deflates. He thinks to apologise, to say something for behaving so _emotionally_ , but before he can, Donghyuck stares at something, transfixed.

“You have a Bösendorfer?” Donghyuck asks, amazed. He immediately walks over and Jeno—their hands still joined—follows him. “I’ve never seen one in real life.”

Donghyuck’s free hand—the left one—hovers over the grand piano reverently, like he doesn’t dare to actually touch it.

“You’re allowed to touch it, you know?” Jeno says, collecting himself, once again amused by Donghyuck’s rapture. “It won’t bite you. God knows that the piano would probably appreciate human touch.”

“What do you mean?” Donghyuck asks, carefully lifting the fall board to reveal ivory keys. “Do the two of you not play? How do you have piano, then?”

“I passed Grade Eight of the Associate Board of the Royal Schools of Music, so I suppose you could say that I know how to play.” Jeno taps his fingers against the spotless lid. “Yeeun’s parents are classical music enthusiasts. I wanted them to think I was cultured so I might have told them that the piano was my hobby. They bought us a grand piano as a housewarming gift.”

“So the piano isn’t your hobby?” Donghyuck looks up at him with wide eyes. “But you passed Grade Eight?”

Jeno clears his throat, “My parents wanted me to learn an instrument. To be a well-rounded person who excelled at academics, sport and music.”

Donghyuck furrows his brows, a set to his jaw that meant he was upset. “Did you like it?”

“I didn’t hate it,” Jeno purses his lips as he deliberates his answer. “I just wasn’t particularly talented in it, so I had to practice a lot just to pass the exams.” He laughs wryly, “I had nightmares about failing the exam.”

“What happened?”

“Oh no, I didn’t fail,” Jeno chuckles ruefully. “I wouldn’t be here if I did. But I did poorly though; scrapped a bare pass at 105, not even a merit, much to my parents’ disappointment. My teacher didn’t recommend me to do the Diploma, she said that I was too soulless for that and the examiner wouldn’t like robotic playing.”

There’s a deep frown on Donghyuck’s face before he smooths it over. “Did you play anything else but your pieces and scales?”

“Not really,” Jeno says. “I mean we did dabble in a few other pieces to train for sight reading, but I wasn’t good at it so the better strategy for the exam was to perfect the things I could train in.”

“So everything is about the exam and nothing is about fostering a love for the piano,” Donghyuck exhales, rubbing his fingers to his temples. “Did your parents force you to learn the piano?”

“They didn’t force me,” Jeno replies defensively. “It just seemed logical to take the exams. I mean what is the point of spending all this money and time on the piano if I couldn’t get something out of it?”

“Is the love of piano not enough? Does everything have to be measured in terms of success?”

“It just…” Jeno sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s hard not to look at things and see the value I can add to my personal statement for university, or to my CV, or to impress somebody…”

“It’s hard to do something for yourself just because.”

It scares Jeno sometimes how much Donghyuck can read him.

“You play the piano,” he changes the topic, not wanting to dwell on it. “Would you play something for me?”

Jeno had been more _preoccupied_ the last time he heard Donghyuck play the piano.

Donghyuck looks like he wants to continue the conversation, but he goes along with it. “Any requests?”

“Anything you like.”

Donghyuck hums, opening the lid of the grand piano before sitting down on the bench, stretching his fingers out before his fingers glide over the keys, doing a few scales to become familiar with the piano.

“Goodness,” he chuckles. “You’re right that it’s untouched. The keys are rather stiff. This’ll be a nice challenge from the softness of my keyboard.”

“You could play the matchsticks and I would still think that you deserve to play at Royal Albert Hall,” Jeno says, leaning against the side of the piano, just gazing at him.

Despite his words, Jeno has a feeling that Donghyuck is an exceptionally gifted pianist. Even just sitting here, Donghyuck looks like he _belongs_ in front of a grand piano.

Donghyuck takes a deep breath, places his hands on the keys, and _plays_.

The piece begins with a soft and gentle melody, something that sounds like a nocturne. Then, Donghyuck’s fingers glide over the keys in a long piano cascade and the intensity builds. It’s like they’ve entered into a mystical and romantic land, a place which glows bright and beautiful like a dream, filled with rich harmonies and magical piano flourishes.

Donghyuck is so absorbed by the music, his expression achingly earnest, like he’s spilling all his emotions into the piece. His body sways with the music, moving with the rhythm, unhurried and utterly at ease. He doesn’t stare at his hands, he doesn’t seem self-conscious, he doesn’t look like he’s fighting to remember the next notes or trying to keep himself in line to the beat of a metronome. He’s relaxed and open, letting his hands pour out the music inside of him, a well of emotion gushing out of him like it cannot be contained.

Donghyuck’s effortless devotion to the music belies the complicated technical challenge of the piece; as if it’s easy for his left and right hands to jump octaves, to constantly be in a flux of arpeggios, or how his hands glide over the ivory keys rapidly in the cadenza passages.

The light of the chandelier casts a glow on him and Jeno thinks he can see Donghyuck’s soul sing, shining golden and pure. When he plays, Jeno can see Donghyuck’s soul, his heart, all laid bare in front of him.

Donghyuck plays like he’s in love.

The piece tapers off with the long piano cascade, as if returning back to reality, and the soft melody that started the piece comes back again. Only it feels a bit sad, a bit melancholic now. Donghyuck’s back curves over the piano, his head lowered, and his eyes shut as he plays his last note.

Jeno feels like this piece reached inside his chest, took his heart, squeezed it, turned it inside out, and put him back together. He stares at Donghyuck, reverent, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat.

It feels inappropriate to clap, to break this spell they’re in. Instead, he whispers, “That’s beautiful.”

Donghyuck opens his eyes slowly, the pupils of his eyes focusing on Jeno. “Did you recognise the song?”

“I’m afraid not,” Jeno says quietly. “Is it a Romantic period composer?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck scoots over, patting the empty space on the bench to indicate for Jeno to sit. “Franz Liszt, a Hungarian composer.”

He watches Donghyuck play the soft, lulling melody, his arms brushing against Jeno’s when he has to reach the higher octaves. After a moment, Donghyuck asks, “Do you speak German?”

Jeno shakes his head.

“This is _Liebestraum No. 3_.”

“What does it mean?” Jeno asks.

Donghyuck’s hands still on the piano, his fingers still in position, tendons straining against skin. A pause, rather than a stop.

When the music pauses, Jeno can hear the rain rebound against the pavement, the gust of the trees as they shake under the wind, but the loudest thing he hears is the beating of his heart.

“Dreams of love.” Donghyuck says, at last. “ _Liebestraum No. 3_ is based off Ferdinand Freiligrath’s poem _O Lieb, So Lang du Lieben Kannst_.” His eyes flicker to catch Jeno’s. “It means _O Love, love as long as you can_.”

Jeno’s mouth goes dry. “What is the poem about?”

“It’s about the purest love, an unconditional love untainted by desire or delusions, that one shouldn’t stop loving until their beloved dies.” Donghyuck licks his lips, his chest expanding and contracting with his breath. “That love is fragile, but worth the risk.”

“Would you like me to read you a few stanzas?”

Jeno nods. Even if there was the threat of death, he doesn’t think he could look away from Donghyuck.

Donghyuck’s voice shakes, but his eyes are unwavering, deep pools of brown that reveal a depth of emotion that shakes Jeno to his core.

_“O love, as long as love you can  
O love, as long as love you may,  
The time will come, the time will come  
When you will stand at the grave and mourn!_

_Be sure that your heart burns,  
And holds and keeps love  
As long as another heart beats warmly  
With its love for you._

_And if someone bears his soul to you  
Love him back as best you can  
Give his every hour joy,  
Let him pass none in sorrow!_

_O love, as long as love you can  
O love, as long as love you may,  
The time will come, the time will come  
When you will stand at the grave and mourn!”_

When Donghyuck finishes, it’s silent. Jeno hears no wind nor rain, not the ticking of the clock or the rustle of breath. Everything is silent and still, filled with a static kind of energy that causes the hair on the back of his arm to stand on end.

Then, they’re kissing.

Jeno doesn’t know who initiates—it doesn’t matter anyways. They collide into each other like it’s inevitable, two forces of nature that gravitate towards each other. Donghyuck’s hands are in his hair, Jeno wrapping his arms around Donghyuck’s waist, trying to press as close to him as possible.

The difference between a man and an animal is that men have intelligent thought and civility; they are not beasts bound to their instincts. But Donghyuck washes away every scrap of Jeno’s chivalry, he activates all those dormant base desires that Jeno has suppressed under a coating of propriety.

Jeno would never grip the ends of someone’s hair, claw at someone’s back and shove someone into the piano keys in an effort to grind against them.

But Donghyuck isn’t someone—Donghyuck is the only exception, Donghyuck is the one Jeno can be honest to, Donghyuck is the only one Jeno can be _himself_ with.

There’s an unholy disjoined clanging noise that emanates from the piano, an ear sore that Jeno doesn’t even care about, so consumed by the heat and sweetness of Donghyuck’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Donghyuck pants, pushing his hips forward so that he isn’t pressing against the piano keys. “Not here. It’s sacrilege to fuck on a Bösendorfer.” He exhales, his voice airy and weak as Jeno nips along his neck, and he struggles to insist on going to the bedroom.

In response, Jeno grabs the back of Donghyuck’s thighs and lifts him. Donghyuck immediately winds his long legs around Jeno’s waist, arms clutching his shoulders tightly.

“What the fuck, Jeno Lee?” Donghyuck doesn’t sound angry, only surprised.

Jeno’s face burns. He doesn’t know what propelled him to lift Donghyuck, maybe subconsciously he wanted to impress him with his strength, he doesn’t know. He feels rather stupid now, but he can’t let Donghyuck down.

“Is this some kind of caveman courting ritual I’m unaware about?”

Jeno whines, his muscles straining as they approach the wooden staircase. “Don’t insult me while I’m carrying you up the stairs please.”

Donghyuck wraps his legs even tighter as he peers over Jeno’s shoulder. “If you fucking drop me, I swear I will render you immobile, blindfold you and leave you high and dry.”

Jeno squeaks, very nearly tripping from Donghyuck’s words, and only his fast reflexes—he throws one hand out to the bannister—stops the two of them from falling.

“What the fuck?” Donghyuck asks incredulously, clinging onto him like a koala to a tree. “How are you carrying me with just one arm? How much do you fucking lift, mate?”

“Don’t call me mate when we’re about to have sex,” Jeno protests, his face flushing as they finally reach the top of the staircase to stable land.

“Oh? Presumptuous, aren’t we?” Donghyuck grabs Jeno’s face, staring into his eyes with a challenging look. “What makes you think we’re going to have sex?”

Jeno looks determinedly forward, focusing on walking to the master bedroom. “So you don’t want me to do anything about the hard-on digging into my abs, then? You just want to sit and watch me get off?”

Donghyuck snaps his mouth shut, his eyes burning. “Who the hell taught you to speak like that, pet?”

He doesn’t let Jeno answer, reaching forward to kiss him furiously. Luckily, they’re literally just outside the bedroom, so Jeno only needs to push the door open and flick the light on before he can lower Donghyuck onto the bed gently, his arms burning from the impromptu workout.

Donghyuck yanks Jeno down onto the bed, and Jeno is barely able to cushion himself on his forearms before they’re making out again, hips rutting together like they’re desperate teenagers.

Even as an actual teenager, Jeno had never been this desperate. The first time he had sex, he had been more petrified—nervous about pleasing her, afraid of hurting her—than he had been desperately aroused.

When Donghyuck tugs at the hem of his jumper, Jeno leans back slightly, raising his arms to throw it aside. Donghyuck’s mouth latches onto his nipple, using his hand to tweak the other, and Jeno gasps, his body jerking. Until he was with Donghyuck, he hadn’t known his nipples were so sensitive. Until he was with Donghyuck, he’d never experimented with touching himself. Until he was with Donghyuck, he’d never felt like this. Shivers wrack Jeno’s body as Donghyuck switches sides, sucking the other nipple in his mouth, just grazing it gently with his teeth and then blowing cold air on it.

“God, you’re so sensitive,” Donghyuck says with a wicked glint in his eyes, grinning like the devil. “Your nipples are so _cute_. They’re small and pink and tight and you squirm so much just for a few touches.”

Jeno flushes pink, seeing the faint red imprints on his chest from where Donghyuck had nipped at him. “You have a dirty mouth.”

“And you like this dirty mouth,” Donghyuck smirks, nosing along the column of Jeno’s throat.

God save him, Jeno does. “Not just your mouth,” Jeno says, reaching for Donghyuck’s T-shirt, removing it and smiling as tufts of Donghyuck’s hair stick up. “I like every part of you.”

“I’m already in your bed, aren’t I?” Donghyuck sucks in a breath as Jeno touches his chest, past the dusky brown nipples to his stomach, lean but soft. “You don’t have to woo me.”

He gasps when Jeno presses a kiss to his belly button and then to the smattering of moles along his tummy, kissing each and every single one of the beautiful moles that blessed Donghyuck’s skin until he was moving his way to Donghyuck’s cheek, and finally, his perfect mouth.

“I’m not wooing you,” Jeno whispers, leaning back to look into Donghyuck’s warm brown eyes, so lovely and tender like melted chocolate. “I’m just appreciating you.”

Donghyuck is so beautiful, his existence so bright and vivid. He’s the living embodiment of _life_ and Jeno will always be in awe of him.

“You’re a dangerous man, Jeno Lee.” Donghyuck says, sounding almost pained.

“But you like it?” Jeno asks, tilting his head, only half joking.

Donghyuck sighs, before he pushes Jeno flat onto the bed. “Don’t you already know? I love my vices.”

Jeno watches on his back as Donghyuck undoes Jeno’s trousers. He bites his lip as Donghyuck follows suit, removing his joggers before he straddles Jeno’s waist.

“So, we have this nice big bed to ourselves,” Donghyuck says, skimming his hand just above the band of Jeno’s briefs, causing Jeno to clench his abs in. “What are we going to do?”

Jeno blushes heatedly, unused to such directness. “Um… aren’t we going to have sex?” he asks quietly.

“I’m afraid I didn’t bring any lube,” Donghyuck says regretfully. “And olive oil might be moisturising for your skin, but I don’t recommend it going up your arse. Besides, it breaks down the latex of the condom.”

“You’re telling me that you don’t go around carrying travel packs of lube?” Jeno asks teasingly. “You had it in Budapest but you don’t actually have it now? Who are you and what have you done with Donghyuck Lee?”

“Oh, shut up,” Donghyuck huffs, a hint of red around his ears. “I used to always carry lube, but… You’re not one of my Grindr hook-ups. I don’t see you with the expectation of sex, okay?”

Hearing Donghyuck’s explanation makes Jeno feel better, a knot of tension unwinding inside of him. Jeno didn’t think that Donghyuck saw him as someone for sex, but it was nice to be reassured that Donghyuck’s actions matched up to his thoughts, subconscious as they might be.

“Well that’s inconvenient,” Jeno murmurs, smiling slightly, thumbing Donghyuck’s hipbones absently.

“Convenient,” Donghyuck snorts, sitting back on the meat of Jeno’s thighs, looking at him with a deadpan gaze. “You are the furthest thing from convenient that could ever exist.”

Jeno smiles, rather amused they were having a conversation while in their pants.

“Open the bedside drawer.”

With a raised eyebrow, Donghyuck goes to do just that.

“Condoms, lube, wet wipes, mints and a bottle of water?”

To be fair, Jeno did know that some vaginas didn’t produce enough lubrication so lube wasn’t exclusively used for anal sex, but he hopes that Donghyuck is picking up what he’s insinuating with a bedside drawer that looks like something from a love motel.

“I’m clean,” Jeno blurts out as Donghyuck inspects the bottle of lube, reading the label. He clears his throat, feeling more embarrassed than he knows he should. “I got checked, um front and back.”

This captures Donghyuck’s attention immediately, lowering the bottle to stare over at him with an astonished look. “Jeno, pet, are you saying you want me to fuck you?”

Jeno can feel his flush spread down to his chest. He feels too embarrassed to answer, so he just nods minutely.

“Jeno, it’s your first-time. If you’ve never had anything up there, it’s going to hurt. You need lots of prep to work up towards it. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Donghyuck’s voice is kind and gentle, but the rejection _stings_ and Jeno feels very stupid for asking for it, like his desires are perverse and wrong. He’s about to laugh it off, but Jeno remembers that Donghyuck isn’t mean. “I prepared,” Jeno says in a small voice.

“Oh?” Donghyuck asks, curious. “What did you do?”

Jeno finds himself unable to speak, propriety and desire waging a civil war inside of him. Seeing Jeno’s struggle, Donghyuck leans forward to take his hands so that they’re both sitting up and looking at each other face to face. “Jeno, it’s okay,” he says softly. “There’s no judgement. Take your time, okay? I’m here for you.”

Donghyuck presses a few kisses to the back of his hands, as if to convey his wordless support, reminding Jeno that he’s there, that’s he’s not leaving.

“I…” Jeno swallows, his mouth going dry.

He feels foolish for making such a big deal about this; he should just go along with what Donghyuck says—he is more experienced, after all—but Jeno wants… with Donghyuck, Jeno feels more comfortable in _wanting_ ; he feels safe exploring parts of himself, discovering his body with Donghyuck. But it’s scary to deviate from what he knows. To admit that he wants this when there’s a part of him that says men aren’t supposed to want this. Objectively, he knows it’s a load of tosh; subjectively, he can’t forget deeply ingrained social conventions.

Donghyuck doesn’t prompt him; just smiles patiently at him, holding Jeno’s hand, not distracting him from his thoughts but not moving away from him.

“I—” Jeno takes a deep breath. “I’ve put… I’ve fingered myself. A few times.” He mumbles, the words muffled from how fast he’s speaking. “And I washed myself there.”

“Would you tell me how?” Donghyuck asks gently, not in a teasing manner, as if he’s aware that Jeno is squirming from embarrassment already. “A thorough shower, or an anal douche, or an enema?”

“The second,” Jeno mutters, his face bright red but grateful that Donghyuck listed the options. “I did it yesterday. But I washed myself just now, so I’m clean.”

“I know, you did so well,” Donghyuck praises him, smoothing his hand over Jeno’s cheek fondly. “You fingered yourself? How many? Did you like it?”

“Um, three fingers,” Jeno squeaks, unable to hold eye contact when Donghyuck smiles at him encouragingly. “And it was good.” He sees Donghyuck tilt his head slightly, as if politely sceptical, and he bemoans his habit of qualifying his statements. “It was so good that I, um,” he blurts out the rest of his answer in a rush, “I rutted against the mattress and came.”

Jeno stares intensely at his lap, mortified that he actually admitted to that out loud.

“Holy fuck,” Donghyuck curses quietly. When Jeno chances a look at him, he sees that Donghyuck’s eyes are dark. Lustful. “Fuck, I’d kill just to see that happen. God, you’re so fucking hot.”

Jeno makes a choked-off sound, half gasp and half whimper.

“You got on your hands and knees then?” Donghyuck asks, his voice settling back into the light, conversational tone it had been. “You fingered yourself and it felt so good that you couldn’t support your own weight, so you rubbed your cock against the mattress over and over until you came?”

There’s a swooping feeling in Jeno’s stomach, a burst of heat that skitters down his spine, and he nods.

“ _Fuck_.”

Donghyuck takes his face and kisses Jeno passionately, all sensual desire beneath composure.

When they separate, Donghyuck’s lips are red and spit slick. He asks, his voice low, “Would you show me how you finger yourself? Would you be good for me, pet?”

Jeno goes incredibly red, but he can’t deny the flare of _want_ that sparks inside of him.

“Okay,” Jeno agrees breathily, kissing him once more before he takes the bottle of lube and turns around.

It feels scarily vulnerable facing the headboard, not being able to see Donghyuck but sensing that he’s looking at him. But Donghyuck has a way of easing Jeno’s nerves; he runs his hands over the knobs of Jeno’s spine, rubs circles over the jut of his hipbones, reminding Jeno to _breathe_.

After Jeno lowers his underpants, he uncaps the bottle of lube, covering his fingers in it, rubbing it a little to warm it up, and then he spreads it over his hole. Then, Jeno leans forward, baring himself to Donghyuck’s eyes as he lays his chest on the bed, ass high and legs spread.

He hears Donghyuck’s breath hitch as Jeno pushes his index finger in, just the first knuckle. Jeno holds his finger there for a moment, letting his body get use to the intrusion, and then he pulls out before he pushes in a little deeper. Immediately, there’s more resistance, and Jeno holds his finger there and waits until his body relaxes a little more before he pulls it out. He repeats this a few times, and slowly but surely, his sphincter relaxes, and he can move his finger in and out without pain.

“You’re doing very good,” Donghyuck says, massaging small circles around his hips, which feel nice but aren’t overly distracting. “God, your hands are so fucking pretty, they’re long and elegant. God, you don’t know how good you look—you have hands that were made for fingering.”

The praise boosters Jeno, giving him the confidence to add another finger to his hole. He slowly thrusts them in and out, more to stretch himself—to become accustomed to the feeling of something inside of him—than for any pleasure. It’d not painful, just a bit strange, but his body gets used to it. He doesn’t feel particularly aroused, but there’s a thrum beneath his skin just knowing that Donghyuck is looking at him.

When he finally feels relaxed—able to thrust his fingers without his body trying to expel it—that’s when Jeno changes up the pace. He curls his index finger slightly, running it along the walls of his hole, the lube making the glide smooth and slick. He drags it up and down, bending his finger so that he presses against the ridges of his walls, and then the pleasure starts to grow. But just as he starts to make headway—his fingers able to push in deeper, spread wider—his wrist starts to cramp from the awkward, backwards position.

Donghyuck notices Jeno’s soft sound of discomfort, asking, “Are you okay?”

“My wrist hurts a bit,” Jeno admits, grateful that his face is buried in the duvet because he feels embarrassed.

“Oh pet, that happens.” Donghyuck sounds more sympathetic than amused. He halts Jeno’s wrist, pulling it out of his hole, and Jeno twists it a bit to get some feeling back into his hand. “Let me help you.”

Jeno makes a horribly eager sound of agreement which Donghyuck very generously doesn’t laugh at.

With both of his hands pressed under his chest and his legs spread, Jeno feels very exposed, something that is exacerbated when Donghyuck spreads his cheeks, getting a good look at his tight, clenching pink hole.

“Actually,” Donghyuck murmurs, squeezing his arse. “Do you mind if I go down on you?”

It takes Jeno a whole minute before he figures out what Donghyuck means. His initial thought was a blowjob, which would have been fairly awkward in this position. And then he realises that Donghyuck wouldn’t have asked him this question if it was just that.

“Um,” Jeno squeaks, his entire body tensing involuntarily.

“You don’t have to say yes.” Donghyuck reminds him.

“I know,” Jeno says, “I’m just- I never thought, it…” he stutters and then stops. “Do you want to?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t,” Donghyuck says simply. “Don’t feel obligated to say yes. But if you’re curious, it does feel good. I thought it might ease you into things.”

Jeno bites his lip. His initial thought was to decline because he felt it was dirty, but he had cleaned himself thoroughly. He can’t deny he is curious though; it’s seen as such a taboo act, and there’s a part of him that is secretly excited by the _forbidden_.

He exhales, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Donghyuck double-checks. “You can always tell me to stop if you don’t like it.”

“I trust you.”

Donghyuck responds by pressing a kiss to Jeno’s upper left thigh, licking and nipping at the muscle. He switches to do the same to Jeno’s right, kissing and sucking, massaging Jeno’s thighs with his palms, getting him to relax a little. He kisses up Jeno’s inner thighs, but just when Jeno is expecting the press of his lips on his hole, Donghyuck’s mouth moves sideways, going across the fleshiest part of Jeno’s bum.

Jeno pants, his stomach clenching, and he takes in a sharp breath of air when Donghyuck bites at the curve of his arse, a sharp sting that is soothed as Donghyuck runs the flat of his tongue over the area. The zing of pain causes the throbbing in his legs to increase, and he can’t help but groan when Donghyuck squeezes his arse, moving to kiss the other cheek before giving it a matching nip.

“You good?” Donghyuck asks, his breath wafting over Jeno’s hole, something that he hadn’t realised was so damn sensitive.

“Yes,” Jeno grits out, resisting the urge to rock his hips back.

When Donghyuck goes to massage his cheeks, spreading them apart, Jeno expects some satisfaction. Instead, Donghyuck licks the inner curve of his bum, where his two cheeks just about meet, up and around Jeno’s hole, seemingly content to make Jeno writhe and clench his fists around the duvet.

The first time Donghyuck licks his tongue from his balls to his hole has Jeno suppressing a whine. Donghyuck’s tongue is wet and relaxed, using the soft surface to make a slow trail up and down Jeno’s hole, as if to get him used to the feeling. Then he focuses in on Jeno’s hole, pointing his tongue and using the tip to make a circular motion around the rim.

To be honest, Jeno had been slightly sceptical about the whole ordeal. Rimming wasn’t like eating out a vagina, which had a clitoris that could be stimulated by the tongue. The prostate was deep inside the hole, out of reach from the mouth. Jeno initially thought it was just like licking and sucking a patch of skin—if your lover did it long enough, it would be vaguely arousing, but it was largely the effect of your lover and not your biology.

But when Donghyuck tenses his tongue—making it harder and more pointed—and then he pushes in Jeno’s hole a little, Jeno whimpers loudly. Donghyuck has to grab his cheeks, keeping them open to push his way in, and he wriggles his tongue, making tiny circles around the walls of his hole. Jeno moans, his hips pushing back instinctively, the jolt of Donghyuck’s wet tongue an indescribable feeling, stimulating nerve-endings that he didn’t even know he had.

Donghyuck laughs, low and husky, and the vibration makes Jeno shudder all over. “God, your hole is so wet and sloppy.” He presses a thumb over Jeno’s hole, breaching past the initial pucker a few times. He continues to knead Jeno’s cheeks, alternative between a firm rub and a light squeeze while his tongue goes back to Jeno’s hole, moving side to side, up and down, and all sorts of patterns that Jeno can’t distinguish.

“Hyuck,” Jeno moans, his hips moving back to meet Donghyuck’s tongue by itself, as if he could get more friction that way. His cock hangs thick and heavy between his legs and he wishes that he could rub against something, but Donghyuck has his legs spread so he can’t do anything until Donghyuck deems it so.

That’s when Donghyuck moves his right hand down Jeno’s cheek, his nails slowly scratching across skin, and then he skims his index finger—wet with saliva and lube—into Jeno’s hole. After a few seconds, he moves it down to the bump of skin between Jeno’s hole and his ball, rubbing firm circles in the area. With his other hand, Donghyuck goes to fondle Jeno’s balls, skimming his fingers across them over and over again. The effect of all of this combined makes Jeno sob, a high-pitched sound ripping out from his throat, clawing the covers as his body is assaulted with a level of pleasure he has never known.

“Hyuck,” Jeno sobs, his back arching as much as he can go, his body so tightly strung that he feels like he might come even though his cock hasn’t even been touched. “Hyuck, please.”

“Hmm?” Donghyuck makes an inquiring noise, as if he’s unaware of the onslaught he’s subjecting Jeno to. “What is it, pet?”

“Hyuck, I need more.” He pleads.

“Ah, why didn’t you say so?” Donghyuck tuts.

Then in complete contrast to his words, he removes his hands from Jeno. The sudden emptiness startles him so much that Jeno turns his head around, loses balance, and lands on his back with a soft _oof_.

“Clumsy.” Donghyuck places down the bottle of lube to look at him with fond concern. “Are you okay?”

Jeno grabs at Donghyuck, not bothering with words and just kissing him, his body craving the intimacy of Donghyuck’s lips. As Donghyuck moves to kiss him in a better position, he brushes against Jeno’s cock, which distracts him enough that Donghyuck is able to pull away. Jeno spreads his legs, his cock aching and heavy, leaking with precum. “Hyuck, please.”

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty,” Donghyuck sighs, even though he presses a quick kiss onto Jeno’s knee before he grabs a pillow from the other side of the bed and slides it beneath Jeno’s arse.

Donghyuck coats his fingers with a liberal amount of lube, warming it up in his hands before he traces Jeno’s hole with one finger and then pushes it in. It goes in smoothly, Jeno relatively accustomed to the feeling, and after a few thrusts in and out, Donghyuck inserts a second.

It becomes immediately apparent that Donghyuck is so much more skilled at fingering than Jeno is. Donghyuck curls his fingers, the pads of them rubbing against Jeno’s walls. Maybe it’s the way his hands are—knobby, long fingers with callouses in the right place.

Donghyuck starts scissoring him and Jeno spreads his legs wider, his hips arching up and pushing his head deeper into the pillow. Donghyuck spreads his fingers wide, as if mapping out the ridges of Jeno’s walls, and then he crooks them just right, and Jeno _moans_.

“Ah,” Donghyuck’s voice drips with satisfaction. “Found you.”

Once he finds it, Donghyuck doesn’t relent. He hones in on that spot deep inside Jeno, tapping on it lightly as he watches Jeno gasp, and then starts rubbing it firmly in a circular motion over and over again to watch him sob.

It’s like nothing that Jeno has ever felt. He can’t even control the noises that spill out of his lips as Donghyuck inserts a third finger inside of him, stretching him out even more. Even then, Donghyuck never strays away from that bump inside of him, and Jeno feels like he might genuinely come just like this.

“Hyuck,” Jeno gasps, his voice wrecked and utterly devoid of his usual composure. “Hyuck, I’m so close.”

Donghyuck doesn’t stop. He looks down at Jeno, acting as if he’s unaffected even though there’s a dark, wet stain against the front of Donghyuck’s boxers, even when there’s a sheen of sweat on his face, even when his eyes are dilated with lust. “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“Hyuck, I—” he cuts off, feeling that cliff of pleasure coming close, his words breaking off into a moan.

“You what, pet?” Donghyuck smiles, sharp as a shark. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

Jeno looks at him, pleading him for a scrap of mercy, but a hungry shark never has any.

“Hyuck, please.” Jeno grabs onto the headboard, feeling the pleasure that sets his blood aflame, dosing him in kerosene and setting him on fire. Jeno burns with the need for relief, to satiate the thirst inside of him that screams for more. “Hyuck, I- I need you to fuck me.”

That seems to satisfy Donghyuck, because he tempers the speed of his fingers, no longer rubbing Jeno’s prostate at every turn. He smiles at Jeno benevolently, patting his hip. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

It takes every inch of Jeno’s self-control not to scream, knowing that it would only amuse Donghyuck. When he pulls his fingers out, Jeno squirms, unused to the emptiness. He watches Donghyuck wipe his hands with a wet wipe before he takes a condom, rolling it down his length.

Donghyuck’s cock is red and hard and _thick_ , the veins pulsating at the sides, the pearly sheen of the copious amounts of precum still plainly visible through the latex of the condom.

Jeno bites his lip, half in anticipation and half in nerves about having that inside of him.

Donghyuck catches Jeno’s eye as he squeezes an obscene amount of lube into his hands, rubbing it along the length of his cock. “Just as every lawyer knows it’s better to be overprepared than underprepared, in along the same vein, rather have too much lube than to have too little. A trip to A&E would rather put a damper on things, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jeno chuckles, knowing that Donghyuck is trying to get him to relax. He lets Donghyuck place another pillow beneath his hips so that it’s in line with Donghyuck’s hips, breathing in deeply as Donghyuck applies more lube to Jeno’s hole.

“You can still change your mind,” Donghyuck says, watching him with a soft smile that belies the stiffness of his cock. “We can cuddle and just go to sleep.”

“No,” Jeno shakes his head firmly, staring into Donghyuck’s brown eyes, the beautiful moles across his skin, all the places that he was loved most. Something grows inside his chest, knowing that Donghyuck is concerned for him over his own pleasure. “Donghyuck, I want you. There’s no one I would rather have than you.”

Donghyuck leans forward to capture Jeno’s lips in a kiss, and then he pushes inside of him.

Jeno exhales with gritted teeth even though Donghyuck stills pretty much immediately after the first push. Despite how aroused he is with all the prep done, Donghyuck is much larger than his fingers and he feels uncomfortably large. Not painfully so, which is a good thing, but enough that he has to take a moment.

Donghyuck doesn’t move at all, watching him with concern. “Are you okay?” He asks sweetly, even though the cadence of his voice is strained. He rubs soothing circles around Jeno’s hips. “Take all the time you need. I can pull out if you want.”

“No, don’t.” Jeno tries to control his breathing. “I just need a minute.”

“You can have two,” Donghyuck winks, which brings a smile to Jeno’s lips because he’s ridiculous. “You can have all my minutes,” he says afterwards, smiling tenderly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s just… it’s more than I expected,” Jeno admits.

Donghyuck takes one of Jeno’s hand and kisses it, pressing pecks along his knuckles, fingers and palms adoringly. With his other hand, Donghyuck reaches for Jeno’s cock, pumping him and bringing him back to hardness, the fireworks of pleasure distracting Jeno’s brain from the dulling discomfort inside of him.

Jeno closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, taking several long, stabilising breaths, until he feels himself relaxing, his hole tensing to fight the intrusion. “You can move,” he says, squeezing Donghyuck’s hand.

“I’ll go slow, okay?”

Donghyuck pushes in more, his eyes carefully cataloguing every inch of Jeno’s expression, and Jeno tries to smile back to indicate that it’s okay. Once he bottoms out, Donghyuck leans down to kiss him and Jeno wraps his arms around his shoulders, their fronts rubbing against each other.

When Jeno nips Donghyuck’s bottom lip, telling him that it’s okay to move, Donghyuck leans back slightly, bracing himself on his forearms. The first few strokes are slow and shallow, something to familiarise Jeno with the feeling of Donghyuck’s cock in him as his body stretches to accommodate him. Donghyuck pauses, leaning over to drizzle some more lube onto his hole, and the next stroke is deeper and smoother.

Jeno’s mouth goes slack, unable to muster the finesse to continue kissing him, not when Donghyuck’s cock rubs against the nerve endings in his walls. Jeno squirms as his cock is pressed against their chests, and even without looking, he knows that he’s leaking precum over his own stomach.

“Hyuck,” he pants, his nails gripping Donghyuck’s back tightly, as if afraid that he would stop.

Donghyuck grips Jeno’s thighs, pushing them apart, and then he pushes his cock back in. It’s equally slow and steady, but the change of angle lets Jeno feels every inch of Donghyuck’s girth, how he spreads his hole wide.

“Ahh,” Jeno exhales, his breath knocked out of his chest. He’s never felt this full before; it teethers on almost being too full, but the edge of discomfort dissipates as Donghyuck fucks him through it, teasing the pleasure out of him through his long, deep penetrating strokes. He feels all of Donghyuck’s cock—how hot and thick and _big_ he is, the bulbous head that pushes against the tight ring of Jeno’s rim, the veiny length and ridges of the shaft, and even the warm firmness of Donghyuck’s balls pressed against him when he bottoms out completely.

The way Donghyuck rolls his hips is absolutely sinful. He’s a bachata dancer, Jeno remembers distantly, as he incorporates a slow, filthy grind that has sparks shooting up Jeno’s spine in between thrusts of his cock, causing high-pitched whimpers to tear themselves from his mouth.

“Feel good, pet?” Donghyuck asks. It would be a sweet question if Jeno—blinking dazedly at him—didn’t see that smirk playing on his lips as he languidly rolled his hips, making Jeno forget the question he’d been asked.

Jeno envies Donghyuck’s self-control; he briefly remembers the all-consuming heat of Donghyuck’s hole, how Jeno felt he was on the edge of coming like a green boy at the first thrust, but Donghyuck fucks him like he’s got all the time in the world, alternating the speed and depth of his strokes like he wants to savour this.

But the fire inside of Jeno needs more, and Donghyuck is both the problem and the solution.

“Hyuck,” Jeno calls, gripping his forearm, “can you go—ah, faster please?”

“Faster, huh?” Donghyuck asks teasingly. “Is this not good enough for you, pet?”

“It’s good but, ah,” Jeno breaks off, his back arching as Donghyuck swivels his hips in a slow, excruciating manner that has Jeno’s toes curling into the duvet. “Ah, it’s so good, but I need more.”

“Oh pet,” Donghyuck coos, running a hand down from Jeno’s cheek to his chest—pausing to tweak his nipples—and then dips his hand on Jeno’s stomach, distributing the puddle of precum to every line of Jeno’s abs as if he was playing fill in the blanks.

“You’ve got all these muscles but you’re the one drooling over your pillow, getting fucked by me.” He laughs, so sweet it was saccharine, and Jeno’s cock—untouched—twitches, spurting out more precum. “You can lift me with one hand and yet you’re the one at my mercy, pet.”

“Hyuck, please,” Jeno gasps, his voice breaking. “Do you want me to beg?”

Donghyuck hums thoughtfully, “I do like the sound of pretty posh boys begging.”

“I’m not,” Jeno swallows, trying to maintain his coherence, locking eyes with Donghyuck, trying not to tear up. “I’m not just a pretty posh boy. I’m Jeno,” he licks his lips, “ _I’m your pet_.”

“Fuck,” Donghyuck snarls, hiking Jeno’s thighs high on his waist, snapping his hips into Jeno sharp and hard, causing Jeno to see stars.

“Hyuck,” Jeno whimpers, his breath punched out of his chest from the blinding pleasure. “Oh God, yes!”

Donghyuck isn’t playing anymore, fucking into him relentlessly in the same angle, every thrust hitting his prostate and making Jeno sob.

It’s so damn _good_. Donghyuck’s cock rubs all the sensitive spots inside of Jeno he didn’t even know he had, drawing out all manner of embarrassing sounds from him—breathy high-pitched whimpers, choked up gasps of Donghyuck’s name, wanton moans for more... Jeno would try to control himself if he could, but Donghyuck seems to enjoy those noises, growling and fucking him faster and harder, like Jeno too makes him lose control.

“God, you feel so fucking incredible around me,” Donghyuck grits out, his voice guttural and hoarse with lust. “I wish you could see how hot you look. You take me so well, you’re so fucking good to me, pet.”

Jeno keens at the praise. He feels so good but helpless like this, just lying on his back, writhing and taking the pleasure he’s given. With his legs wrapped around Donghyuck’s waist, his arms gripping Donghyuck’s forearms, he has no grip on the bed and it’s like his body is just a tool for Donghyuck to use.

A hard press makes Jeno thrash his head to the side, tearing a gasp from his throat. He blinks, staring at the left side, not comprehending the blank space. He doesn’t understand what he’s seeing, why there isn’t a matching pillow like the one he’s lying on.

But then Donghyuck lifts Jeno’s hips up—a physical shove of strength that shocks him—and yanks Jeno down, an almost punishing thrust that causes Jeno to _scream,_ his prostate hit dead on. The stimulation is so incredible it edges on painful, and Jeno has to grip the cushion beneath him to hold on for dear life.

 _God,_ Jeno thinks, almost in tears, _Donghyuck is fucking me in my house. In the marital bed I share with my wife_.

Outside, the storm rages on, wind and rain battering against the windowsill, but they’re in the eye of the storm, the pocket of peace in all the chaos. Jeno doesn’t hear anything, not the lewd slap of skin against skin, the wet swish of Jeno’s hole greedily sucking in more of Donghyuck’s cock, the rustle of the bedsheets as they rut like animals, nothing.

In the madness, in the wildfire that blazes all the good sense inside of him, the tornado that rips away all his rationale, Donghyuck anchors him. He leans forward so that they’re face to face, gazing down at him with something like devotion, and then he intertwines his fingers with Jeno, and kisses him.

It’s all lips and tongue and teeth, absolutely no finesse at all, but it’s Donghyuck, who kisses him so ardently, who makes such a desperate noise like he _needs_ to kiss Jeno, and there’s no one else that could ever compare.

“You’re close right?” Donghyuck pants, murmuring into Jeno’s neck between kisses.

“Yes,” Jeno gasps, having been close for what seems like forever. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck grunts, moans and low whines escaping him as if he can’t hold on to his resolve anymore.

“Hyuck,” Jeno’s moan fades into a drawn out noise as Donghyuck— _finally, finally_ —grasps his cock, so hard and sensitive the mere touch of his hand causes tears to prickle in Jeno’s eyes, and pumps it just the way that Jeno likes.

“Come, pet,” Donghyuck says, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Let go, Jeno.”

And Jeno does; he stops trying to keep himself together, relinquishing his control, freeing himself from the shackles that bound him, and freefalls into the abyss. It’s like plunging into a waterfall, that singular moment of clarity whilst in the air, a truth acknowledged at a moment most vulnerable—

_“I love you.”_

And then the water slams into him, taking him under, and every inch of his skin—receptive like a live wire—fizzles as waves of pleasure overtake him, and Jeno—quivering and gasping for breath—comes.

After the intensity of his orgasm, Jeno blacks out for a moment. He blinks drowsily, slowly coming to when he feels something warm on his stomach. It’s Donghyuck, gently wiping him down; he hadn’t even realised that Donghyuck had left to fetch a towel.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” Donghyuck whispers.

“Like I just got my brains fucked out,” Jeno replies sleepily.

Donghyuck’s laugh bubbles from his throat. “That’s a prostate orgasm for you.” He wipes between Jeno’s legs. “But don’t sleep just yet okay? We need to get you cleaned up. I’ve run an Epsom salt bath for you.”

Jeno stares at Donghyuck, certain that he heard him wrong. Donghyuck ran _him_ a bath? How is that possible? But if Jeno strains his ears, he can hear the steady thrumming of water from the bathroom.

“Is that okay?” Donghyuck touches his hand softly to get his attention, seeing as Jeno hasn’t answered.

 _Is it okay_ , Donghyuck asks, as if he was afraid he was overstepping Jeno’s boundaries.

Jeno can’t begin to describe the immense feeling, the way his chest cavity feels too small to hold his heart, how everything about Donghyuck just makes it grow and grow and grow. Not like a helium balloon that might pop if the pressure is too great, but like an Olive tree, one that grows mighty in worthless soil. It takes root deep inside of him; not a flight of fancy born from the early onset of a midlife crisis, but something genuine.

“No one’s ever done that for me before.”

Donghyuck’s eyebrows crease. “Run you a bath? Are you not a bath person? They’re nice.” Donghyuck extends a hand to pull Jeno up to a sitting position.

“No one’s ever really taken care of me before.” Jeno clarifies, accepting Donghyuck’s hand. “I’m usually the one who does it.”

“Oh, pet,” Donghyuck sighs, smoothing a hand over Jeno’s cheek. “It can get tiring to always have to be the one to take care of people. You need time for yourself too; it’s okay to be taken care of. I’m here for you.”

It’s funny. Jeno has always been the _man_ of the family; the strong, steady, silent pillar of strength whose role is to take care of others. And Jeno doesn’t resent it; in fact, he likes helping people, a way to show that Jeno loves them. He doesn’t like being useless or incompetent, and he hates other people knowing that he’s weak. 

But Jeno lets Donghyuck guide him to the master bathroom, his legs still a bit wobbly. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like weakness for Donghyuck to see him in such a state. It doesn’t feel patronising for Donghyuck to explain that he should use the bidet and then to soak in the hot bath.

Once he’s suitably clean, Jeno climbs into the freestanding claw-foot slipper bath, sighing at the warm heat that soothes his muscles. Donghyuck has lit a candle by the counter and the scent of wood sage and sea salt further relaxes his senses.

There’s a light knock on the door and Donghyuck turns the handle when Jeno tells him to enter.

“You look cosy,” Donghyuck smiles, fiddling with the light panel to dim the room in warm ambient light.

“And you look good,” Jeno drags his eyes up from the sight of Donghyuck wearing Jeno’s navy blue dressing gown. He thinks it’s unfair that Donghyuck wears Jeno’s own clothes better than him.

Donghyuck chuckles, perching on the ottoman by the bathtub. “My boxers are dirty and it feels weird to walk around your house naked. Here,” he passes him a bottle of water, “you must be thirsty.”

“Ah, so you do have a decorum of modesty,” Jeno teases, taking the bottle of water from him. As he drinks, he realises that he’s more parched than he thought. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Donghyuck smiles softly, placing the bottle on the floor. He runs his right hand into the bathtub, asking, “Is it good? The water hot enough?”

“Why don’t you join me and find out?” Jeno asks, tilting his head. He traps Donghyuck’s hand by bringing his legs together, knees peeking out of the water. “There’s enough space for two.”

Donghyuck bites his lip, deliberating. “Okay.” he says, and Jeno spreads his legs, letting Donghyuck’s hand go.

He undoes the knot to his dressing gown, hanging it up on the hook. Jeno is briefly distracted by the round, fleshy curve of his bum before he sees the trail of red nail marks along Donghyuck’s back, plainly visible even on his tanned skin. When he turns around, Jeno sees a few splotches of purple along his neck and shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” Jeno asks after Donghyuck has settled into the water. “I’m sorry for going overboard.”

“Hmm?” Donghyuck asks, bemused. He looks down at where Jeno is gesturing and makes a surprised noise, as if he hadn’t even noticed. “Oh, they don’t hurt, not unless I press them.”

Donghyuck goes to do just that and Jeno reaches up to stop him. “Don’t do that; you’ll aggravate the bruise.”

“They’ll heal quickly,” Donghyuck says laughingly, skimming his fingers over the marks. “Have you never had a love bite before?”

“No. It seems rather juvenile and chauvinistic, you know? Marking her up like I’m a caveman and she’s my property,” Jeno says, unable to take his eyes off Donghyuck’s neck, where there was a burgeoning bruise the shape of Jeno’s lips. He didn’t remember doing that. “Besides, I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“I’m made of tougher stuff,” Donghyuck takes Jeno’s hands, kissing them.

“I know,” Jeno whispers, cupping Donghyuck’s cheek with a wet hand, water dripping down between them. “I know you’re strong, but you’re precious to me. I would never want to hurt you.”

Donghyuck’s eyes flutter close, the steam from the water causing a heated blush to paint over his skin. He clutches Jeno’s hand, kissing the lines of his palm.

“I know,” he says, his eyes remaining close, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks. “That’s why I would let you hurt me.”

Donghyuck’s eyes open and he turns around faster than Jeno can decipher the emotions in his eyes. “Help me wash my hair and I’ll do yours?”

This time, it’s Donghyuck who smells like Jeno, cedar and sweet mint. Donghyuck, who is in Jeno’s home, who has just been with Jeno, who bears Jeno’s mark on his skin.

Jeno is beginning to understand why people get possessive in relationships.

After he washes Donghyuck’s hair, Jeno gets carefully turned around and lowered into Donghyuck’s lap, who slowly and meticulously shampoos Jeno’s hair, nails gently scraping over his scalp and along the back of his head, which makes him feel completely boneless.

He almost falls asleep in the water, his body bracketed against the solid warmth of Donghyuck’s chest. He can even hear Donghyuck’s heartbeat, which—as he presses his ear more closely to his heart—is beating rather fast.

Jeno opens his eyes, sitting up more to take in Donghyuck’s furrowed brow, the twist of his mouth.

“What are you thinking about, Hyuck?”

When Donghyuck speaks, the words come bursting out like it’s a topic that he’s ruminated on for weeks.

“Why do you think people revile infidelity so much?” He asks. “Just think about it. We hate it in pop culture. But we’re so fascinated by crime. We watch mafia shows like Peaky Blinders, robbery like La Casa de Papel, drug cartels like Narcos. We cheer on villains as they go on murderous rampages and ruin families; we think it’s sexy. We’ll consume content about destruction of human lives and yet we’re leery about infidelity. Why?”

Jeno’s mind is still foggy, clouded in a haze like the bath water. It takes him a while to gather his thoughts. “Perhaps it’s our natural instinct, something evolution didn’t weed out. Life and death are inevitable. We’re programmed to kill, to die. But it’s not ingrained in us to cheat on a loved one.”

“The division of physical and emotion, the pain of the body versus the pain of feelings?” Donghyuck ponders. “But matters of that heart aren’t criminalised. Surely infidelity is less severe than the rampant murder? It’s illegal to kill, but adultery isn’t a crime anymore in England & Wales. How is it that we condone crimes that have legal consequences, but condemn moral crimes that have no legal consequences?”

“The purpose of law is to provide a framework of rules created by Parliament and judges to help people resolve disputes, maintain order and protect individual rights.” Jeno says. “It’s not concerned with morality, which are a set of beliefs, values and behaviour standards created, accepted and enforced by society.”

“Is it really that clear cut, though?” Donghyuck challenges. “It’s the chicken or egg first debate: do we base our morality on laws or laws on morality? Some areas are ambiguous. Cheating is immoral but legal. Robin Hood stole from the rich, which is illegal but moral.”

He continues, gesticulating. “Generally, with changes in law, public attitudes soften up over time. Divorce was morally and legally wrong under the Catholic faith, but Henry the Eighth legalised it with the Church of England, and nowadays most people in the Western world accept it. Homosexual relations were once seen as the root of evil, but gay marriage and civil partnerships exist, and people have become more tolerant now.”

“But not infidelity,” Jeno says, understanding Donghyuck’s insinuation. “It’s been legalised for hundreds of years and yet people still abhor it so. So why do you think we revile something that isn’t a crime?”

“It’s the distance and possibility,” Donghyuck answers immediately, like he’s been waiting to be asked. “Most people aren’t capable of murder or manslaughter, whether voluntary or involuntary, through recklessness or criminal negligence. They see it as a far-removed possibility, an abstract concept that theoretically exists, but they don’t quite grasp. Sort of like how an average cisgender gay man views pregnancy.”

“But cheating is possible.” Jeno catches on the inference. “Everyone has cheated in some form, even miniscule like the bus fare or a test at school. It’s not far-removed or impossible.”

“Exactly,” Donghyuck nods. “Cheating on your partner, on your spouse—that can happen. Murder is black and white—they’re monsters or heroes. But with infidelity, it’s coloured in shades of grey because it’s ambiguous. What constitutes infidelity? What if it’s a purely emotional connection? How about a drunken hookup?”

“I suppose it’s all about the intention,” Jeno says slowly. “The breaking of a promise.”

“And that happens so easily,” Donghyuck exclaims. “What is more frightening than a person who doesn’t need to exert force, puncture flesh and inflict wounds to hurt us? Someone who can cause us pain without even needing to take positive action. Passivity, neglect and the simple act of loving another is enough.”

“Entertainment is escapist, many people use it to live vicariously. Few of us will have a licence to kill, so we don’t care about James Bond’s habitual disregard of human life. But many people don’t like watching the news because they want to reject reality.” Donghyuck smiles sardonically, continuing.

“And cheaters… who are they? Well, they’re people with ordinary lives; they eat and drink, work and study, have friends and parents, hopes and dreams. These are just average people, just like you and me. So why would people who want to escape from the uncomfortable truth of their lives want to see that on the TV screen?”

Jeno clears his throat, something like dread creeping up his spine. Nothing good can come out of a discussion like this, and Jeno would rather live blissfully ignorant, though Donghyuck doesn’t seem to agree.

“Do you know what the scariest part is?” Donghyuck asks, with a smile entirely lacking in warmth. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “The real monsters are men, and they look just like us. They walk among our ranks, because cheaters don’t go around with giant scarlet letters on their chests proclaiming their sins.”

Jeno freezes at the damning words, the vitriol of Donghyuck’s tone making him shrivel up in shame.

“Each of us are utterly capable of hurting people so badly without even being punished by law.” Donghyuck concludes. “And that—that is why we’re so apprehensive of infidelity, why we condemn it so. Because the law won’t punish infidelity, so it’s up to society to police it.”

Donghyuck stands up from the bathtub abruptly, water dripping off him in rivulets. He steps out of the bathtub, wraps a towel around himself, and stalks out of the bathroom.

Jeno watches him go, utterly speechless. What did Donghyuck mean by that? Was he criticising them? It takes Jeno a moment before he realises that he’s sitting in a tub of cooling water and he’ll only get answers from the source. He immediately scrambles out, drying off and wrapping himself in the dressing gown before he rounds up on Donghyuck, who is sitting on the bed with a blank look on his face.

“You think I’m a monster?” Jeno demands.

“It would be the height of hypocrisy for me to think you’re a monster when I’m in the same exact boat.” Donghyuck answers dryly.

“Then why this whole speech?” He asks, crossing his arms and refusing to get any closer. Jeno takes a deep breath, trying for his composure, refusing to even prod Pandora’s box in fear that his emotions would dominate him. “Do you hate me for this?”

“What is this?” Donghyuck returns.

Jeno closes his eyes, knowing that he only has himself to blame. Try as he might, the few times that he even let himself contemplate this question, he had no answer.

“I’m married.” Jeno takes a deep breath, the words coming to him as difficult as pulling teeth, not only because he didn’t like talking about his feelings, but also because he just didn’t know. “When I was younger, having this job, marrying her and owning this house would have been the perfect life. But then I met _you_.”

Donghyuck purses his lips, looking mildly offended.

“You’re different from everyone I know, and I like being with you,” Jeno exhales shakily. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know why you waste time with me when I- when I can’t give you what you deserve.”

Donghyuck is silent for a very long time. Jeno pretends his heart doesn’t break. He tries to prepare himself for the inevitable moment that Donghyuck is going to stand up and walk out of Jeno’s life.

“I won’t ask for forever, I don’t need forever, and I’m not asking for forever,” Donghyuck says finally. “What I have with you right now is enough. I’m fine with this, just being with you. I don’t care for marriage or society’s version of the perfect life. These stolen moments I have with you—furtive, clandestine, _unlabelled_ —is good enough for me. This might not last, it might not be forever, but I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

“But you asked if I resent you and I do,” Donghyuck says quietly. “When you smile at me, when you make silly jokes, when you say you _love_ me, and I genuinely, honestly believe you—I resent you sometimes.”

Jeno takes a shuddering breath, closing his eyes, feeling his heart genuinely ache in his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ask me why.” Donghyuck says instead, extending a hand and beckoning Jeno over.

Because Jeno is the world’s greatest imbecile with no sense of self-preservation when it comes to Donghyuck—he does. He walks over, takes Donghyuck’s hand, and hands his heart over to be broken.

“Why?” he mouths, not even audible, his vocal cords refusing to make the sound.

“I resent you because I’m selfish,” Donghyuck says simply, matter of fact. “In the back of my mind, I wish that she tricked you into marriage. That she’s some evil, horrid woman. Then, I would feel justified in what I’m doing. I wouldn’t be a homewrecker, a bastard who seduced a married man. But I know she’s not an evil bitch; I can hear how much you respect her, and I feel—”

Jeno is right. It is heartbreak, only it’s exacerbated because it’s Donghyuck who’s hurting. Jeno would suffer a million times just to spare Donghyuck the pain. Just so Donghyuck wouldn’t sound so wounded when he talks.

Donghyuck isn’t finished though, his eyes flashing and his voice filling with conviction.

“But you know what, Jeno? _I don’t care_. I’m a corporate lawyer; everyone already thinks I’m evil to the core anyways. I defend huge multinationals—insist upon their innocence as they ruin the environment for our future generations, profit off chaos in third world countries, earn billions but dodge taxes. I’m far-removed from the crime scene, I see no bodies and there are no weeping relatives in court, but are my hands clean of blood?”

“I don’t care. I don’t give a _fuck_. I feel no guilt and I sleep just fine at night,” Donghyuck laughs flippantly. “Well, that’s wrong. I don’t actually sleep because I’m busy being the Devil’s Advocate.”

“So if I’m to go to Hell, then I might as well first enjoy myself on earth. Let me earn my place in purgatory. Let me be the monster that everyone thinks I am—immoral and depraved.” Donghyuck fixes Jeno with an intense look that he will never forget. “Write it on my grave that my sin is that _I love you_.”

It’s the sun creeping through the windowsill that rouses Jeno from his slumber.

With blearily eyes, he checks the clock—08:58. It’s a whole hour later than Jeno’s usual wakeup time. He sits up, staring at the window, confused, and it takes him a few seconds before he puzzles out that Yeeun always has the curtains drawn, so it’s disconcerting to see sunshine in the room.

An arm wraps around his waist and lips press against Jeno’s bare shoulder. “What are you doing up? Come back to bed, pet.”

Jeno shivers, whether from Donghyuck’s raspy voiced words, the kisses he’s lavishing on skin, or the cold air, he’s not sure. But he can’t resist Donghyuck, so Jeno obediently follows his words and lets himself be tugged back down into the bed.

The next time he wakes up it’s from the sound of the lawnmower. Jeno sits up, the duvet falling to his hips. He glances next to him; as if sensing his gaze, Donghyuck’s eyes slowly flutter open, blinking sleepily before he focuses on Jeno, and then he smiles softly.

“Good morning,” Jeno smiles foolishly, his heart inordinately fond.

“Good morning indeed,” Donghyuck rasps, levelling a gaze at Jeno’s bare torso and laughing when Jeno clutches the duvet to his chest. “What time is it?”

“Um, it’s—” Jeno looks at the clock again. “It’s 11:03?”

“Why the tone of surprise?” Donghyuck asks, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Jeno from behind. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just...” Jeno tips his head back, enjoying the feeling of Donghyuck’s arms around him. “I never sleep in. I always attend service at ten unless I’m on a work trip.”

Donghyuck doesn’t say anything in reply, just kisses his neck softly. Jeno tilts his neck to give him more access, enjoying the soft press of his mouth, but then Donghyuck’s stomach makes a loud grumble.

Jeno giggles as Donghyuck sighs, looking sternly at his own stomach. “Way to ruin the mood.”

“Go freshen up.” Jeno pushes Donghyuck lightly off the bed. “Come down to the kitchen when you’re done.”

Jeno goes to his closet to get changed. He’s about to put on his usual casual Sunday outfit, but a button-up and trousers seems too formal for Donghyuck. He considers his wardrobe and realises that Donghyuck is right—it’s all formalwear. With a bit of digging, he eventually finds a pair of dark jeans which he pairs with a turtleneck.

Afterwards, Jeno heads downstairs to the kitchen to see what he can make for Donghyuck. After he fills the kettle, he opens the refrigerator and promptly sighs.

Since Jeno always takes his meals at work, Yeeun is the one who does the grocery shopping. As she is currently away, the refrigerator is bereft of actual food, leaving only alcohol and condiments. They’ll probably have to order something in; Jeno will ask Donghyuck what he wants to eat when he comes down. In the meantime, he goes to make tea when the kettle whistles.

With his mug in hand, he wanders over from the kitchen to the conservatory, sitting by the bay window seat to enjoy the rare autumnal sunshine after the ran from yesterday.

Something catches his attention and he sees that someone is in the back garden. Belatedly, he realises that it’s the gardener, who upon spotting him, waves her hand at him in greeting. Jeno tentatively waves back.

The gardener—Jeno is fairly sure her name is Wanda—comes over every Sunday, generally while they’re at church. He thinks that she’s been working for them since they’ve moved in, but he’s not certain since Yeeun was the one who hired her, being in charge of household maintenance.

“Is that for me?”

He turns around, already smiling as he hears Donghyuck's voice, and sees him standing by the kitchen, dressed in Jeno’s old OUBC jumper and a pair of Adidas joggers Jeno wore exclusively at the gym.

“A poor host I would be if I didn’t make my guest a nice cuppa.”

Jeno can’t look away from the sight of Donghyuck in his clothes. It’s ridiculous—his OUBC jumper has LEE over the back, which is Donghyuck’s surname too. But for some reason, he gets this warm feeling in his chest to see Donghyuck wearing something that is so exclusively Jeno’s.

Donghyuck comes to sit next to him by the windowsill, holding Jeno’s mug, wearing Jeno’s clothes, smelling like Jeno’s cologne. Jeno almost goes to kiss him beneath the light of the window, right in front of the gardener on his wife’s payroll.

At the last moment, Jeno’s rationality washes over him, and he aborts the movement, pretending to dust something off Donghyuck’s shoulder. Donghyuck’s eyes are wide as he darts a look out the window.

He doesn’t get to dwell on that because at that moment, there’s a knock on the door to the conservatory.

With an unsettled feeling in his stomach, Jeno goes to unlock the door. “Good morning, Wanda.”

“Good morning, Mr. Lee,” Wanda greets, her Polish accent strong.

Relief floods through Jeno when he suddenly recalls Yeeun mentioning that although Wanda spoke little English, she was a talented and hard worker so she should be paid British wages. His wife thought very poorly of people who viewed EU immigrants, especially ones that came from Eastern Europe, as low-cost labour.

Her eyes slide towards Donghyuck and Jeno’s nerves ramp up.

“This is my co-worker, Donghyuck Lee,” he attempts to be blasé. “How are you?”

Donghyuck murmurs “How do you do?”, sounding milder than Jeno has ever seen him before. He stands up, walking over to place his mug in the kitchen sink before he leaves the room.

Wanda watches him briefly before turning back to Jeno. “Very good,” she says.

Jeno waits, his heart pounding in fear, summoning a host of excuses about why Donghyuck is here, but all Wanda does is point towards the garden, making a pushing motion. “It no work.”

He stares at her for a moment, not comprehending. Did she want him to give her more work? But then he actually looks at where she’s pointing, past the door and into the garden, and he sees the lawnmower.

“Is the lawnmower not working?” he asks to clarify. “It’s broken?”

She nods and the tight knot of anxiety inside Jeno’s chest slowly unfurls. Oh God, he thought she was going to confront him about Donghyuck, which he wouldn’t be able to deal with. But a broken lawnmower, he can fix.

“Could you buy a new lawnmower for the house please?” He requests, pulling out his phone and bringing up his banking app. He stares at the payment amount, wondering how much a lawnmower cost. He glances up, seeing Donghyuck standing in the hallway, looking a bit uncertain, and Jeno types in a number.

When Wanda opens her phone to check her account, she looks at him with widened eyes. “This… a lot.”

Is £800 a lot for a lawnmower? Jeno wouldn’t know. Ask him about the share prices of a FTSE 100 company and he’ll know but ask him for the price of a pint of milk and he’ll be stumped.

“It’s for you.” Jeno tries not to let his anxiety leak into his voice. “Your money. Thank you for working here for so long. I hope you’ll continue working for us in the future.”

Wanda glances at her phone once again as if to check the amount and then she looks at him. She’s a woman a whole head shorter than him, almost twice his age, with half of his schooling, yet in that moment Jeno fears her more than anyone. Her clear blue eyes are cutting; he has a feeling _she knows_.

She pockets her phone. “Thank you, Mr. Lee.” Then, she nods at him before returning to the garden.

Jeno watches her for a moment, unsettled. Did she truly believe they were just co-workers, or did she not question it because it wasn’t her place to do so? Wanda was a gardener for several more households in the area, other families who led comfortable lives like Jeno. Did she not blink because she was used to it? To her, it might just be another marriage with secrets. He wouldn’t be the first nor the last. The thought discomfits him. He glances outside at Wanda obliviously pruning the flowers and draws the curtains close.

He finds Donghyuck in the sitting room, looking at framed pictures by the mantelpiece.

“Everything okay?” Donghyuck asks, voice low, rubbing Jeno’s arm lightly.

Jeno glances at the picture he’s looking at. He sees Yeeun looking resplendent in her white wedding dress, clutching a bouquet of baby’s breath, beaming brightly at him.

All at once, he feels sick.

He’s in his marital home with Yeeun, all their worldly possessions gathered, the culmination of the life they’ve built together. He’s corrupted his marital bed, forsaken his vows, broken his promises in each and every single way. In the bright morning light, the truth is more damning than ever.

Jeno looks between Donghyuck, the still portrait that encapsulates happily wedded bliss, and to garden in the back where Wanda is, and suddenly he feels like he’s about to suffocate.

“There’s no food in the house,” he says, grasping the first excuse he can. “I’m afraid we have to eat out.”

“Oh, okay,” Donghyuck agrees, heading towards the foyer without complaint. “Let’s go then.”

“Just like this?”

Donghyuck glances down at himself, then nods thoughtfully. “Good point,” he says, before stopping at the coat hanger by the door and taking Jeno’s Barbour jacket.

Jeno feels a bit faint. Donghyuck is wearing Jeno’s OUBC shirt with his name, Jeno’s jacket, Jeno’s joggers, and he’s coming fresh from Jeno’s house. _God_ , it’s all too much.

“Are you okay?” Donghyuck looks at him in concern. “You look a bit peaky. All those hours in the office isn’t good for you. You should stay out in the sun more, get some Vitamin D.”

Although being outside does make Jeno feel a bit better, less claustrophobic than he did in the house. Foolishly, he thinks that it’s Donghyuck’s effect. Donghyuck, whose smile is the gentle rays of the sun, who warms Jeno up just by being around him.

“So, where are we going?”

Jeno glances around the roads of his neighbourhood. They had just been meandering down the path aimlessly and it takes him a moment to orient himself. Despite living here for years, he still feels a sense of unfamiliarity towards Hampstead, like he doesn’t truly belong here, something not aided by his work schedule.

“Do you want Sunday roast? My local does a good roast and we’ll be able to get a table without reservation.” He points to the pub just around the bend by the Toll House. “Or we could also go for brunch?” Jeno is sure he’s heard that’s what young people do—going for brunch after certain _activities_.

“Sunday roast is good!” Donghyuck agrees. “I haven’t had a good Yorkshire pudding in so long.”

“Then you’ll be pleased to know that The Spaniards Inn does an excellent Yorkshire pudding.”

As they walk in the door, the owner’s wife, a cheerful brunette who is extremely spry despite the size of her belly, greets him with a big smile. “You alright, Jeno?”

“Hello, Sophie,” Jeno greets politely. “You look well. It won’t be long until you get to see your baby, isn’t it?”

“Nope,” She gives her bump a light pat. “I’ll get to see my baby boy in around three weeks, if all goes to plan.”

“Well, you look in great spirits,” Jeno smiles genuinely. “I have no doubt you’ll be a great mother.”

“Aw, you’re such a dear, Jeno.” Sophie gives him a squeeze on the shoulder. “I’m sure you and Yeeun will make great parents too.”

Jeno gives Donghyuck a quick glance, finding that he’s just smiling blandly, and clears his throat. “You give me too much credit.” He smiles awkwardly. “Anyways, could we have a table for two, please?”

“Of course,” She gathers two sets of menus. “Would you like your usual table inside or somewhere else?”

Donghyuck walks around the receptionist stand, peering at the back in curiosity. The Spaniards Inn has traditional English pub décor, all heavy dark oak fixtures which absorb all the natural light. Donghyuck, however, glows like he’s perpetually lit by candlelight, always warm and bright.

Even before Donghyuck answers, Jeno has his. Luckily, as he is starting to find out, Donghyuck is on the same wavelength as him, because he says, “The beer garden looks beautiful and it’s a rare sunny day. Could we have a table outside please?”

“For sure!” She says, leading them out to the back.

As Jeno walks out of the darkness of the pub into the light of the day, he realises just how vast and green the space is. Jeno never sits outside. In the summer, the conditions are uncomfortable with smokers, insects and the heat. In the winter, well, it’s rather self-explanatory.

Donghyuck glances around with admiring eyes and Jeno actually looks properly. Past the two hellhound statues guarding the gate is the beer garden. Fairy lights are strung up on the trees, antique ceramic urn planters with pretty chrysanthemums dot around the garden, colourful bunting hangs from the sides of the canopy, and vintage candle lanterns dangle beneath the gazebo.

“There are blankets over there and the heat lamp is just over here if you get cold,” Sophie explains, pointing out the features. “Of course, you can come find a member of staff to help you if it gets too complicated.” She smiles and pulls out a notepad. “Could I start you off with some drinks?”

“I’ll have a Bloody Mary please.”

Jeno is just about to say the same when Donghyuck raises an eyebrow at him, and then he smiles sheepishly, asking, “I’ll have a blood orange G&T please.”

After Sophie leaves, Donghyuck smiles at him, “Good. I know you don’t like Bloody Mary’s, even though they’re the Sunday drink of choice.”

“I’m trying,” Jeno says, smiling embarrassedly.

“That’s all I ask,” Donghyuck says, leaning forward earnestly. “It takes time to discover what you like. Very few people know what they want from the start and even then, people are allowed to change their mind after.”

“And you know what you want?”

“Through a lot of trial and error,” Donghyuck smiles, closed-lipped, “yes.”

“But you’re the expert at this gastropub, so tell me—what looks good?” Donghyuck asks, browsing the menu.

They order a baked camembert with artisan bread to start with. For their mains, Donghyuck orders the roast beef—large slabs of thinly sliced succulent meat, a good seared brown on the outside and a deep pink on the inside, while Jeno tries the roast lamb—a stunning char that belies how wonderfully tender and juicy it tastes. Each comes with the usual roast trimmings: large puffy Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes cooked golden in goose fat, crisp sautéed greens, and delicious honeyed parsnips and carrots.

Even without the bottle of red wine they had with their mains, Jeno is sure he would equally have had a good time as he did with Donghyuck, laughing so much that he felt his abs ache.

Although Jeno feels more stuffed than the meat in a sausage casing, he doesn’t want to leave just yet, so he suggests that they get dessert. The crème Chantilly profiteroles in sticky caramel glaze is sweet but seeing Donghyuck’s grin across the table as Jeno gets cream over his nose is even sweeter.

After Jeno pays the bill, they attempt to leave the pub, but the main room by the bar is crowded with people. Jeno peers around to see what’s going on, and he gets his answer when there’s a resounding cheer of ‘ _We love you Arsenal, we do! We love you Arsenal, we do! Oh Arsenal we love you!_ ’

“Oh the football’s on!” Donghyuck perks up from behind him. “Wonder who Arsenal is playing?”

They’re able to push their way into the room, thick with ruddy faced white men holding pints of beers, their eyes glued to the large flatscreen television.

“BOO! Oh, come on, man!”

“Yay!” Donghyuck cheers quietly besides him, shaking his fists happily. “Go Son Heungmin! Go Korea!”

“What do you think?” Donghyuck asks, turning to him. “Should I start singing _Glory glory Tottenham Hotspur, glory glory Tottenham Hotspur, glory glory Tottenham Hotspur, and the Spurs go marching on_!”

Jeno presses a finger to Donghyuck’s plush lips. “Kindly keep the chaos sowing to a minimum. I know it’s difficult, but I’m rather fond of you and I don’t fancy fighting a bunch of blokes for your honour.”

Donghyuck pinkens, staring up at him with shock. His mouth drops open with surprise. “Oh my God. You can’t just say shit like that out of nowhere. You’ve got to warn a man.”

Jeno laughs, his heart so full, and he’s overtaken by the desire to kiss Donghyuck, but the cheering of the punters interrupts him. Instead, he grabs Donghyuck’s hand and leads him out of the pub.

“Well, that was something,” Jeno says, grinning at Donghyuck, who only huffs at him. “I’m afraid I’m not well-versed in football hooliganism to stay and fight if you started singing the chant of Arsenal’s most hated rival.”

“Pft, I live among the enemy in Finsbury Park,” Donghyuck sniffs. “I have no fear.”

“Yeah? But that’s my local and I don’t think I would be welcomed back with open arms if I incited a brawl.”

“I suppose for you I’ll hold my tongue,” Donghyuck says, long-suffering.

“Much obliged.”

Jeno takes Donghyuck’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of his palm.

Donghyuck stops short, looking at him with astonishment. Jeno flushes in embarrassment; he had done it originally in jest, but he couldn’t deny that after he did it, it wasn’t a joke anymore.

“What fine manners,” Donghyuck’s lips quirk. “No one would be able to tell that you aren’t of high birth.”

It’s quite a compliment for Jeno, a boy born and raised in a council flat to blend in the ranks of the social elite.

“Well then, would you honour me in a stroll around Hampstead Heath?” he asks, playing into the character of a Regency man courting his love interest.

Donghyuck smiles, his eyes shining in amusement. “I would be honoured.”

The late afternoon sun warms them as they walk down the path to go to the hill of Hampstead Heath.

“Isn’t it funny that a pub once the solace of literary greats likes Dickens, Keats and Lord Byron is now the home to football fans and the likes of you and me?” Jeno asks.

“Well, I think this 16th century pub should consider themselves privileged that they’re patronised by you and me,” Donghyuck says. “Who knows, maybe one day we’ll do something so great we’ll be honoured with a Blue Plaque outside our homes and our names will be used to entice people to come visit.”

Jeno snorts, “We’re solicitors. Although becoming a judge isn’t exclusively reserved for barristers anymore, it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to reach legal hall of fame status like Lord Denning, Lady Hale and Lord Bingham.”

“You’re no fun, Jen,” Donghyuck pouts. “Where’s the harm in indulging in a little fantasy? Lord Lee,” he tests out the title, pursing his lips, and then snorting. “I suppose you’re right though; it doesn’t quite have the same ring as double syllabled surnames. It sounds just as ridiculous as Lord Na.”

Jeno blinks, taken aback. “I’m surprised you know about Jaemin’s title. He usually keeps that to himself. But his father only held a Life Peerage, so Jaemin didn’t inherit the title when he died. He’s only styled The Honourable Jaemin Na.”

That causes Donghyuck to erupt into gaffes of hysterical laughter. “ _The Honourable Jaemin Na_!” he cackles. “Oh, the irony is too much.”

“You’re so mean to him,” Jeno sighs, shaking his head. “Though I suppose he’s not very nice to you too.”

The dirt path they’re in is completely shaded by thick, overhanging tree branches so he can’t see Donghyuck’s expression. “I know he’s your best friend, and he does make for a good friend, but I was never Jaemin’s friend.”

“I’d like for you to be friends,” Jeno confesses. “I’d like the two most important people in my life to get along.”

Donghyuck goes silent. Jeno thinks he’s not going to say anything in response and he’s just about to apologise for bringing it up when Donghyuck says in a small voice, “One day, I hope that we can be friends. That we’ll be on good terms. I’d like to think that it’s possible.”

At that moment, there’s a fork in their path. The one that’s directly ahead is dimly lit—the tree cover blocking the sun like an umbrella—but well-worn. The other route is narrower, an unkempt and grassy path that wants wear, where the thick canopy of trees recede and that sliver path is bathed in the late afternoon light.

All these years Jeno has walked this path and he’s never seen the alternative route. He glances at Donghyuck and decides to take the road less travelled by.

They stumble onto a meadow, a sea of green grass and wildflowers, bordered at the edges with trees. The trees cast long shadows on the ground in juxtaposition to the shimmering light created from the sun’s position as it steadily dips down the horizon, creating a wonderfully atmospheric backdrop of golden light.

The golden light illuminates the autumn colours: buttery yellow Birches, vivid red Sycamores, burning gold Beeches, fiery Maple, marigold Rowan… shades of stunning autumnal colours that almost overwhelm the eye and makes Jeno feel a bit lightheaded from the sheer intensity.

They stop to feast their eyes at the spectacle, but Donghyuck doesn’t memorialise the moment with his phone. “You’re not going to take a picture with your phone?” Jeno asks.

A gust of wind causes the trees to rustle and leaves to fall off, a flurry of intense colour twirling patterns in the air. Donghyuck’s eyes follow it. “I’d rather enjoy a spell of ephemeral beauty rather than trying to immortalise it with a photo but miss it all.”

“That’s not the Gen Z way.”

Donghyuck laughs as they continue walking. “I’m not a complete snob who refuses to take pictures. I do take the occasional selfie and risqué photo.” He shoots a coquettish look at Jeno, who goes a bit pink. “But I just think some experiences are better off lived in the moment rather than for social media bragging rights.”

“You’d rather enjoy it for yourself rather than for other people,” Jeno summarises, mulling it over in his head.

As they continue walking, Donghyuck starts to point out some of the interesting things he sees, which pushes Jeno to actually _look_ instead of stomping on to his destination. Jeno sees mushrooms and toadstools peek their heads above the damp soil, growing in different shapes, sizes and colours. He sees a red squirrel, its tail fluffy and long, clutching at a nut before it darts up a tree.

They spend so long just larking about, going off the beaten path to look at fascinating points of nature that it’s sunset by the time they finally reach the top of Hampstead Heath to the Parliament Hill Viewpoint. But instead of the clear, blue skies that Jeno had been hoping for, what they get is thick, rolling clouds that block the sight of the City of London down below.

Jeno frowns in dismay, craning his neck and squinting to try to make out any of the famous landmarks. For his efforts, all he sees are dense, opaque clouds that blot out what should be a spectacular orangey pink sunset.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, “the weather is doing a poor job to advertise that this is one of the best viewpoints in the entire London. What a shame that we walked all the way up here for nothing.”

“Don’t apologise,” Donghyuck says, chastising. “You can’t control the weather. Besides, it’s not for nothing. Looking at the view from the top wasn’t my goal for the day anyways.”

Jeno makes a confused noise, tilting his head.

“It doesn’t matter that I didn’t get to see the view. What matters more to me was that I spent time with _you_.” He looks down, a little bashful, tucking his hands into the pockets of Jeno’s jacket.

Jeno’s heart flutters inside his chest. “Oh,” he says stupidly, lost for words. “I…” he clears his throat, feeling a blush come onto his cheeks.

Donghyuck laughs, seeing how Jeno is unable to quite make eye contact with him. “You’re cute, Jen.”

He laughs even harder when Jeno makes a distressed noise. He’s a thirty-year-old adult man and cute is probably the last adjective used to describe him.

“Anyways,” Donghyuck pokes him in the arm, his smile cheeky. “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. With how shit the weather is, it’s an excuse for me to badger you into taking me here another time.”

The words trip out of Jeno’s mouth. “You don’t need any excuse. I’d take you anywhere you want to go.”

Donghyuck’s face flashes with several emotions before it goes blank. “You shouldn’t say such things,” he says evenly. “Not unless you want me to kiss you.”

Jeno squeaks, glancing around. It’s getting dark so there are less people around, but he can’t be sure that none of his neighbours or people from his neighbourhood aren’t here.

“I won’t, I won’t,” Donghyuck smiles wryly, a sharp twist to his lips. “But we can do this—”

Before Jeno can ask him what he means, Donghyuck walks up to a young couple, handing over his shiny new iPhone. “Excuse me, would you take a picture for us please?”

When they acquiesce, he walks back to Jeno, who wraps an arm around Donghyuck and smiles for the phone.

After thanking them for taking the picture, Donghyuck goes to check over the photo. “This phone has such high quality; I’ll have to thank my sugar daddy for the generous gift.”

Jeno stares at Donghyuck in askance, unable to believe that he made such a statement. After a moment, he makes a retching noise and plucks the iPhone from Donghyuck’s hands, saying, “Gift retracted for that atrocious statement. I don’t know you.”

As Jeno speed-walks away, he hears Donghyuck’s bright laughter as he comes hurrying after him. Donghyuck intertwines his arm around Jeno’s, grinning at him. “Oh, come on. You have to admit that it’s pretty funny.”

“No, it’s not!” Jeno protests indignantly, even though he adjusts to a slower speed to accommodate Donghyuck. “I’m not—I don’t view you like that. You don’t owe me anything because I buy things for you.”

“I know, I’m just teasing,” Donghyuck says, his voice becoming softer. “I know you’re a good man—you give but you don’t expect things in return. And I… I’m not with you because of what you can give me.”

 _But I can’t give you anything_.

Donghyuck gains nothing by being with him. Jeno isn’t senior enough to wield real influence with the board. In fact, he’d risk disciplinary action if they were discovered. Everyone knows Jessica Jung introduced the firm’s hardline stance on workplace relationships. She had been involved with Taeyeon Kim and their breakup had been hostile. When news about Taeyeon dating Baekhyun Byun circulated, Jessica caused such a ruckus that she was fired. Taeyeon and Baekhyun only held onto their jobs because of the sheer amount of revenue they brought to the firm. In terms of a relationship—well, that’s even clearer. Jeno is a married man. There’s nothing he can offer Donghyuck other than a furtive, clandestine relationship.

It’s already dusk; the lingering sunlight fading into a bruising, purplish-grey hue that leeches all the warmth from the air. It becomes cold, the clearest sign of winter’s imminent arrival.

Jeno becomes aware that they’ve started walking close together, the arms of their jackets pressing against each other, how their hands brush every so often. His breath hitches as Donghyuck’s fingers curl slightly, skating over the back of his palm. Jeno waits, but Donghyuck doesn’t make another move.

How is it that Jeno has kissed Donghyuck, touched his body, had sex with him, and yet is unable to muster the courage to hold his hand? It’s ludicrous because it’s probably the most chaste thing they’ve done. And yet, it’s also the most unnecessary thing. Touching, kissing—it all leads up to sex.

But handholding is apropos of nothing. Not an erogenous zone, but one of connection. You build relationships by shaking hands, you craft objects with your hands, you do almost everything with your hands. When they’re occupied, it’s difficult to do something else. The very act of holding someone’s hands is to put aside other tasks just to savour the feeling of someone’s hand in yours, an implicit understanding that _you are important to me_.

Donghyuck is important to Jeno.

It scares him how much the statement is true. They’ve known each other for mere months and yet Jeno feels so strongly about Donghyuck. How is it that they’ve only known each other for so little time but Jeno feels like he’s known Donghyuck for a lifetime. Donghyuck _knows_ Jeno better than his own spouse, and the depth of the emotions Jeno feels for Donghyuck frightens him.

They’re in public, for God’s sake. Though they’re few and far between, there’s still people who could _see_ them. Does Jeno want to risk exposure for the objectively unmeaningful action of holding someone’s hand?

But it’s not someone—it’s _Donghyuck_.

Donghyuck, who Jeno loves.

And it’s enough to make Jeno slip his fingers between Donghyuck’s, linking them. Donghyuck’s hands are cold, but Jeno has never known a more comforting touch.

They don’t look at each other. They continue walking on the dimly lit path, their hands laced together. Jeno smiles despite himself, squeezing Donghyuck’s hand.

For now, it’s enough.

As they start to approach residential streets and familiar houses, Jeno chooses to walk in back alleys and poorly lit pockets, not wanting to let go just yet.

It doubles the time it usually takes for Jeno to walk back to his house, but it’s not for efficiency. It’s to spend time with Donghyuck, who is smiling softly, warm like a candlelight in the dark.

By the time they return to the house, it’s completely dark and cold. Hearing Donghyuck’s teeth chatter, Jeno goes to turn on the heat.

“Ah, you don’t have to do that,” Donghyuck says, standing by the foyer, wearing Jeno’s jacket and still in his shoes. “I thought…” he looks a bit uncertain. “Well, aren’t you going to drive me back now?”

Jeno turns around, surprised. “Oh.” He bites his lip, feeling let down. “Of course, yes. If you want to go, I’ll drive you back home.”

Donghyuck doesn’t make any move to leave and Jeno doesn’t pick up his car keys.

“Won’t you stay?” Jeno blurts out before he can mince his words. “I mean—it’s past seven and you must be hungry. It’ll take you a while to whip something up, and I was going to order takeaway and the minimum charge is more than what I can eat, so…” he clears his throat. “Would you like to have dinner together?”

Donghyuck strides over to Jeno, pulling him by the collar and kissing him deeply. Jeno sighs, his arms coming to wrap around Donghyuck’s waist, something inside him settling at Donghyuck’s proximity.

Donghyuck cups Jeno’s cheeks, pecking his lips once more. “I’d love to have dinner together.”

They end up ordering an English classic—Indian takeaway, though he took care not to order chicken tikka masala. It might be Britain’s unofficial national dish, but Jeno doesn’t want Donghyuck to think that he is an uncultured, whitewashed, and bland British person.

Jeno doesn’t even mind that it takes an hour to deliver, not when he’s sitting by the fireplace with Donghyuck, just chatting about everything and nothing.

Jeno’s heart warms as he watches Donghyuck tuck into revitalising rasam soup and steal Jeno’s crisp masala dosa pancake. He places the best pieces of spicy fried chicken 65 onto Donghyuck’s place, letting him have more paneer than spinach as they tuck into creamy saag paneer.

Donghyuck seems to realise halfway through eating that he’s getting the best bites and that Jeno would sneakily return the bits that he was given. With narrowed eyes, he brought a spoonful of flavourful chicken chettinad to Jeno’s lips, making him eat it in between mouthfuls of tomato rice.

With Donghyuck there, Jeno doesn’t feel bad drinking the indulgent sweet mango lassi or using a huge piece of flaky paratha bread to mop up any remaining sauce from the takeaway container. Of all the rules he’s broken for Donghyuck, his diet is probably the least consequential.

To aid them in their digestion, they settle on the cushy loveseat in the sitting room and watch a rerun of the Great British Bake Off, snuggled together with a thick woolly blanket thrown over their laps.

So absorbed in the delight and defeat of bakers, they don’t even notice that it’s late until the grandfather chimes on the dot at eleven o’clock.

“I should go,” Donghyuck whispers, his head cushioned on Jeno’s thighs, blinking sleepily at him.

“You should,” Jeno murmurs, trailing a finger over Donghyuck’s moles, mapping out his features with his hands. He could look at Donghyuck all day and still want to gaze at him more. He stares at Donghyuck’s mouth, so plush and pink and glossy as Donghyuck licks his lips.

“I have a hearing tomorrow. I should… I should go back and prepare for that,” Donghyuck says breathily, his eyes fluctuating between Jeno’s mouth and his eyes. “All my things are in my flat.”

“You should.”

Donghyuck’s Adam apple bobs as he swallows. “You make it very hard to leave you, Jeno Lee.”

“I know the feeling.”

Donghyuck’s eyes closing, his lashes fluttering against his cheek, and then he sits up abruptly, climbing off the loveseat. He runs a hand through his hair, staunchly not looking at Jeno.

“I will literally fuck you on this sofa if you look at me like that one more time. I won’t leave you after sex, so I’ll stay over. I’ll be tired so I won’t wake up early to go back to my flat to get my shit. So help me God, I’m being a responsible adult even though it kills me not to press you into the cushions and make you moan my name.”

A blush spreads over Jeno’s cheeks at Donghyuck’s honest admission.

“Well,” Jeno says, walking over to Donghyuck, whispering in his ear. “That’s a shame.”

Jeno smiles when Donghyuck grits his teeth audibly and clenches his fingers.

“Now, will you take the maiden ride for Jeno’s Uber service?”

Donghyuck jabs a finger into Jeno’s chest, hissing when he doesn’t even budge. “You are _not_ funny.” He stomps past Jeno, going to put his shoes at the foyer.

Jeno chuckles as he follows Donghyuck at a more sedate pace, pocketing his keys as they head to the garage.

It takes less than fifteen minutes for him to drive to Donghyuck’s address in Finsbury Park. After he parks, he gets out of the car, walking Donghyuck to the door of the building.

Donghyuck smiles wryly. “I’d invite you in, but it’s not a good idea considering I wouldn’t let you leave.”

“Probably for the best,” Jeno smooths a thumb over his knuckles. “I wouldn’t want to leave anyways.”

They look at each other for a long moment beneath the lamp hanging over the building’s door. Jeno wonders if Donghyuck feels as reluctant to part as he does.

Donghyuck looks uncharacteristically shy as he admits, “I had a good time this weekend.”

“Me too.” Jeno takes Donghyuck’s other hand. “This weekend was more fun than I had in- in a long time.”

“I’m glad.” Donghyuck reaches up to push back a strand of Jeno’s hair, his eyes falling on Jeno’s lips.

It feels as easy as breathing to lean forward to meet Donghyuck in the middle.

They kiss, their lips moving softly and sweetly, full of tenderness and warmth. He doesn’t feel the nip of the cold, not in his lover’s embrace, but it seems that Donghyuck is not as good as withstanding the chill as him.

“You should go inside,” Jeno whispers, their lips separating with a soft smack. “You’re shivering.”

“I really should,” Donghyuck sighs, almost forlorn, “be that as I wish this night won’t end.”

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” Jeno says, trying to be upbeat.

“Then I should sleep now so tomorrow will come faster,” Donghyuck says, pressing one last kiss on his lips that’s over far too soon for Jeno’s liking. “Good night, pet.”

“Sweet dreams, Hyuck.”

Only after Donghyuck does inside does Jeno return to his car. He watches the lights inside Donghyuck’s flat turn on, the curtains part and Donghyuck’s face peer from the glass, waving at him. Only then does Jeno start the engine, driving back to his house.

As he goes to wash up for the night, Jeno realises that he’s been smiling the entire time. He feels like ambrosia has filled his veins, a golden warmth that spreads across him—and suddenly it strikes him then that this was a date.

It was probably the plainest and most mundane type of date; they’d gone to a pub, went for a walk, returned home for some takeaway and watched television afterwards.

And yet it was the most magical and perfect date Jeno had ever had.

It was comfortable and homely and—

 _Home_ , Jeno thinks, with a realisation that he wasn’t shocked about the association. As if his heart had already known for a long time and was waiting for his head to catch up.

In Donghyuck, Jeno found home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and it was worth the wait. I didn't intend that it would take so long to update, but I too did not intend to write 33k. Writing that much in a month isn't too shabby, I suppose. 
> 
> Those among you with eagle eyes might notice that there are three chapters; this was supposed to be the final half of the story, but nohyuck became too affectionate and the chapter became too unwieldy if I didn't separate it. Fingers crossed it won't take me another month to update.
> 
> If you would indulge me, could you please leave an encouraging message in the comments? The reason why it took me so long to write this chapter was the amount of intimate scenes involved, which is very much not my forte. I'm rather embarrassed that it took so much effort to write but I really tried my best. If you enjoyed it, I would genuinely be so grateful if you told me they were nice in the comments below. I know I haven't replied yet but I will! I cherish each and every single one of them and they motivate me to write more.
> 
> I neglected to mention this in the notes of the first chapter, but this fic is very much non-fiction fiction, so the law is real (though I disclaim any responsibility, it is not meant to advise in any professional capacity, etc.). I feel obliged to mention that Slingsby is a real case. Should you be intimate with someone that has a vagina or you have one, please remove your rings and/or any sharp objects from your hands. You don't want to cause injury, incur legal troubles and become one of the most memorable cases for law students for all the wrong reasons :)
> 
> Anyways, thank you very much once again for reading. I always appreciate kudos and comments. I wish you all the best xx
> 
> Twitter: @spyblue31
> 
> P.S. The office dry-cleaner's, private sleeping pods and swimming pool are not figments of my imagination. They are actually some of the employee perks of Magic Circle law firms in London. Though I wish I had come up with the idea of the video of a trainee solicitor coming out of a swimming pool, it's actually a real graduate recruitment video from Clifford Chance. It certainly made a lasting impression on me.


	3. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “However, if claiming adultery as the reason for divorce, it must be your spouse’s adultery, you cannot rely on your own. That is—” Jaemin takes a deep breath. “You must be the victim of adultery, not the adulterer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and happy holidays everyone! I hope you will accept my gift to you in the form of an update! Welcome to the third and last chapter of the (current) longest fic in the nohyuck tag!
> 
> I said it wouldn't take me a month to update and I stand correct - it took me two... 
> 
> I'm sorry it took me so long to update. This chapter is the shortest at 26k but it took me the longest to write. There's been quite a lot happening and then I got sick a week before Christmas. I'm actually still not feeling well, but I was determined to finish this fic before the New Year. I received so many heartening comments and it encouraged me to continue writing. Your support means the world to me.
> 
> Anyways, thank you for waiting so patiently and I hope this chapter is worth the wait.
> 
> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7eVH7jY9FHDdIwO5IqAztM?si=ixHGDUSaQKelS2CbieDu_Q)

**November**

It’s a Saturday just like many of the Saturday’s he had for the past few years.

At eleven, Jeno meets Jaemin at the start of Swain’s Lane, right by the Parliament Hill entrance to Hampstead Heath, a five-minute walk to the Highgate Men’s Bathing Pond which Jeno frequents in the warmer months.

After exchanging pleasantries, they decide on their default bike route; a short and sweet route at under three miles, but one renowned among cyclists for being the city’s most notorious climb.

Like all things in life, it starts out easy. They loop up Swain’s Lane, bordered by pavement cafes where genteel North Londoners sip overpriced coffee with pastries and leisurely pass by pretty Georgian houses. It’s after they make a left turn that it becomes difficult as they climb the hill.

To their right, the overgrown gravestones of Highgate Cemetery become visible. Following Victorian attitudes towards death, it became a fashionable place to be buried. Even in death, not just anybody was granted entry to Victorian Valhalla, to become neighbours to Karl Marx, George Eliot, Christina Rossetti and George Michael. But the exclusivity wasn’t just limited to heroes. Adam Worth, widely considered to be the real-life inspiration behind Moriarty of Sherlock Holmes fame, also made this his final resting place.

Once they pass the Neo-Gothic cemetery entrance—in true London capitalist spirit, to pay tribute to communism’s founding father, one has to pay to gain entry—that’s when the real test of strength begins. Swain Lane—bisecting the east and west side of Highgate Cemetery—is narrow and made perilous by not having designated biking lanes and a gradient that increases substantially. Combined with the fact that there’s dense foliage overhead, a high wall to the left and a fence to the right, it creates the impression of a tunnel.

It’s safe to say Jeno would never go biking this route on days of poor weather and visibility, not just the least because there are legends of a Highgate Vampire who is said to roam around the dilapidated woodlands. Perhaps there’s a reason why the scent of wild garlic is in the air.

Legs burning and panting, their tunnel vision clears up as they emerge to the tranquil Pond Square for some even ground, enabling Jaemin—who has a fixie—to get a bit of rest before they head on for their next incline.

In early November, the last of the autumn colours—the intense red, orange and yellow which he admired with Donghyuck—try to colour a gunmetal sky with their pallid soggy leaves. As they cycle past Highgate Wood, he spies pockets of fungi and mushroom on the base of trees. The ancient undulating woodland is so unchanged it feels like he is transported back to the medieval times when this was the Bishop of London’s hunting estate.

They cycle along the Northern stretch of the Parkland Walk, the longest local nature reserve in London which follows the course of an old disused railway line, before they reach their final destination at Alexandra Palace.

Jeno gets off his bike, removes his helmet and takes a big gulp of water from his bottle.

Jaemin follows suit, dragging his bike next to Jeno’s, running a hand through his flattened hair as he admires the view. “Oh, Ally Pally, what a beauty you are. Not too shabby for The People’s Palace.”

Alexandra Palace, a sprawling yellow palace embellished with red patterned brickwork work in an Italianate style, sits at the top of Muswell Hill. A rectangular and symmetrical building, its most striking feature is the large, recessed rose stained-glass window in the middle.

“Are you ready to head back down?”

Usually, Jeno would agree, but… it’s refreshing to breathe in cool hair and enjoy the wind tickling his hair after the exertion of pedalling uphill for so long. To just stop and enjoy his surroundings.

“Not yet,” Jeno says, turning around 180 degrees to the other side. “Let’s just stay a little longer.”

His breath whooshes out of his lungs as he takes in the expansive panoramic views. As Alexandra Palace is located so high, nothing obscures the awe-inspiring vista. Past the stretch of green grass in front of him, he sees an endless expanse of red-bricked, Gable roofed terraced houses interspersed with splotches of browning greenery that resemble the spiky husks of chestnuts. In the distance is the City of London, monuments like the Cheesegrater, the Gherkin, the Walkie Talkie and the Shard all easily recognisable. It’s a tale of two cities, the cold blue-grey modernity a sharp contrast to the warm-toned homogenous houses in front of him.

What a sight, Jeno thinks, he wishes Donghyuck was here to see it.

“No wonder why tickets for the Ally Pally fireworks show always sell out weeks before Guy Fawkes Night.” Jeno imagines the bright sparks exploding high in the sky with this incredible backdrop. “God, it must be spectacular. All these years I’ve lived here and I’ve never seen it.”

“Guy Fawkes was just last week! Ah, you should have told me that you wanted to see the fireworks,” Jaemin tuts, pointing at a street not too far away. “Jisung lives in Crouch End, high up on the hill. He invited me over the weekend and we watch the fireworks just outside his house.”

“Jisung… your new tax prodigy?”

“Yes,” Jaemin sniffs. “Would you do me a favour, love? Tell Chenle from Equities to keep his filthy paws off Jisung. I don’t want a former JP Morgan investment banker rubbing his grubby hands over my baby.”

“Chenle does whatever the hell he wants. You tell him not to do it and suddenly it’s ten times more appealing—he’s not used to being denied.” Jeno looks significantly at Jaemin. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“I don’t know whom you refer to,” Jaemin says primly, tilting his head up haughtily.

Jeno pats him on the shoulder. Just then, he spots the huge antenna tower—a tall metallic spire several storeys high which sticks out the most in Alexandra Palace—and laughs.

“What is it?” Jaemin asks, following his line of sight.

“This won’t make sense to you since you don’t watch Doctor Who.” Jeno snaps a few pictures on his phone to show Donghyuck as it’s his favourite television show. “Ally Pally was once headquarters to the BBC which is where they launched the world’s first full television service in 1936. But it’s also where the Tenth Doctor, played by David Tennant, goes to climb a TV aerial to prevent the broadcast of the Queen’s coronation from being used to turn the population into faceless zombies.”

Jaemin blinks, looking at the antenna and then back. “How charming.” He says blandly.

After they’ve sufficiently enjoyed the view and restored their strength, they finally leave Alexandra Palace, getting back onto their bikes to return to their stomping ground.

What goes up inevitably must go down. After all the energy exerted just to claw their way up, it takes next to nothing just to come tumbling down.

In a blink of an eye, they’ve cycled back to Highgate, steps away from the former home of Romantic poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge and novelist J.B. Priestley, a house which today belongs to Kate Moss.

In a neighbourhood abound with history, the gastropub they take their lunch in doesn’t disappoint. Located in a large Tudor style building, The Gatehouse has a steeply pitched dark brown gabled roof, black and white half-timbering, oriel windows, and an independent fringe theatre upstairs for evening entertainment.

After they lock their bikes, they walk past the pretty archway to enter the pub and get seated in the handsome dining room, a place with high ceilings and walnut wood interior. The soften golden light from the crystal chandelier warms up the dreary November afternoon and the open French doors to the beer garden allows the meagre sun to shine through.

Jeno returns from the loo to see Jaemin talking to the server, holding the menu, “… two elderflower tonics with extra lemon, please. I’ll have the Galician fish stew and he’ll have the plaice with capers.”

“Oh no, sorry, I don’t want to have the plaice,” Jeno says to the server, glancing down at the menu. “Actually, I’d like the Iberico pluma please.”

After confirming their orders again, the server leaves, taking away the wine glasses set on their table.

Jaemin gives him an appraising look. “The Iberico pluma? How curious. You always order the plaice.”

“Just felt like a change,” Jeno shrugs. He sees Jaemin’s sceptical look. “What? It’s just food.”

“Is it?” Jaemin asks. “You always choose the same healthy choice in restaurants, but that’s fine—we all have cheat days. Today though, we stopped at Ally Pally, a route we’ve cycled for _years_. You’ve never professed an interest in a frolic in the park; you’ve always been a man of single-minded efficiency to your destination.”

The server returns with their Fever Tree tonics. Avoiding Jaemin’s eye, Jeno takes his time pouring the fizzy liquid into his glass. “You make it sound so serious. It’s just a meal change and a beauty spot.”

“Jeno, I’ve known you since I was eighteen and you’ve always been the same.” Jaemin takes a slow sip of his drink, looking at him with a tilted head. “When you deviate from your routine, it becomes fairly apparent.”

“I just want to eat something nice—something I’ve wanted to eat but never did.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow, questioning him wordlessly.

Jeno purses his lips, thinking about his answer. First, it was the money. Once he started working at the firm, he was able to afford to eat out in restaurants, but it was _weird_ , entering into this different world when he grew up pinching pennies. He always felt guilty ordering nice things, so he ended up ordering cheaper things rather than what he wanted on the menu. Then, it was the diet. He had got together with Yeeun when he was at the peak of his fitness, but metabolism decreased with age, so he was trying to stay in shape to not embarrass her.

“I’ve been curious about The Gatehouse’s menu choices ever since we switched here from The Flask.” Jeno lays his napkin over his lap primly. “It’s not every day that a British pub serves un-whitewashed Spanish food.”

Jaemin fixes him with a stare. They’re both lawyers, they both know the game—the truth is simply a statement on a sliding scale of absolute certainty and ambiguous possibility. To speak without giving a true opinion.

Today, Jaemin deigns to play along.

“Ever since the tabloid rag the Daily Mail spotted Taylor Swift and her boyfriend eating fish & chips at _The Flask_ , it’s been swarming with tourists. Surely, they don’t expect her to be sitting by the bar all day like Alfie the Alcoholic, busking on the guitar about her London Boy?” Jaemin sniffs contemptuously. “Of course, having a guaranteed stream of income made management complacent. I expect nothing better than a pub run by a chain like Fuller’s Brewery. It was the final nail in the coffin. I’m glad we switched.”

“Ah yes.” Jeno says mildly. “It’s absolutely unfathomable that a 17th century pub once frequented by Coleridge, Byron, Shelly and Keats is now patronised by Taylor Swift, a songstress many consider a modern poet.”

The food arrives before Jaemin can retort, and they fall quiet as they eat.

Jeno made the rich choice—the end loin is seared outside but still slightly pink on the inside so it’s exquisitely tender. Despite being simply seasoned, it’s intensely flavourful, rich with a sweet nutty aftertaste signature of Iberico pork. Eaten with a bite of crunchy onions soaked in pork juices and some triple cooked chips, it’s a marriage of deliciousness. He should have had it earlier. _He should have done many things earlier_.

“Do you have any regrets, Jaemin?”

The question escapes his mouth before he can retract it.

“I ate a whole charcuterie board and fried camembert yesterday,” Jaemin laughs after he swallows a bite of fish stew. “It wasn’t pretty, I regret that a lot.”

“I don’t mean mistakes. Regrets. Things that you look back on and wished desperately you could travel back in time and stop yourself from doing.”

Jaemin looks down, flaying the thin skin of the fillet with a smooth stroke of his fish knife. “This is some _About Time_ wishful thinking.”

Jeno stays silent, knowing that Jaemin is stalling. Jeno would let it go, but he wants an answer. Even though Jaemin is as allergic as Jeno is on opening up—an Englishman through and through—he eventually caves.

“Doesn’t everybody?” Jaemin smiles tightly, clutching his fish fork. “Of course, I do. You know full and well how the last decade—hell, the last fifteen years—have been a fucking a mess. I regret chasing after Mummy’s approval, for ignoring Daddy until the end. I regret the drinks and the drugs. I regret…” Jaemin swallows, his voice losing the harsh edge he had previously, going quiet. “I regret a lot of things I’ve done to _him_.”

It’s the fact that Jaemin has an easier time mentioning his _parents_ —a topic he only delves upon at the height of substance on the guarantee that he can’t feel the emotions—over this mystery man which alerts Jeno to the significance of his existence.

“ _Him_? The one who made you stop?”

Jaemin nods minutely, staring at his fish stew like it’s about to attack him.

Food forgotten, Jeno asks tentatively, “What was he like?” Apprehensive about upsetting Jaemin, he adds, “It’s just- you never told me about him; I only knew of him from what happened that night.”

Jaemin flinches, dropping his cutlery onto the plate with a clink, but makes no motion to pick it up. Jeno thinks he’s not going to answer, but after a long moment, Jaemin does, voice quick, like he’s ripping off a bandage.

“We met at a bar. We hooked up. I thought I’d never see him again, but he reappeared. He had an unflinching way of looking through my bullshit and I hated it. He wanted me to be better and I had a different definition of better. We fought—a lot. _That night_ , we had a fight that went rather poorly.”

That was an understatement.

That Saturday night, Jeno received a call from an incoherent and inconsolable Jaemin. He had gone to his house and found Jaemin amidst broken furniture and blood. From Jaemin’s drunken blubbering, Jeno gathered that he had a fight which escalated into things being thrown around. Jaemin resolutely refused to go to the hospital as he was high as a kite, so Jeno disinfected his wounds, which were largely superficial. In the morning, as they watched the sun rise on the balcony, Jaemin said he would get clean as tears dried on his cheeks.

“You regret being with him?”

Jaemin looks up into Jeno’s eyes for the first time. His pupils are dilated, a wild look on his face, and he shakes his head strongly. “No, not him. I could never regret him. He is…” He exhales roughly, staring back down at his hands, which are clenched in fists. “I regret all the things I’ve done to him. I regret how I treated him like a disposable object. I regret how I hurt him. But I don’t regret _him_ at all.”

Jeno has no doubt about Jaemin’s conviction.

“Were you dating?” he asks delicately.

Jaemin purses his lips, still unable to look up at him. “We never put a label on it; we never really spoke, to be honest. We weren’t really good at it, we let our bodies do the talking.” Jaemin twists the gold signet ring on his pinkie finger, a legacy he inherited from his father. “But we were _involved_ for around six months, more or less.”

“Did you—” Jeno hesitates, seeing how difficult it is for Jaemin, but he wants to know. “Did you love him?”

Jaemin stills, every muscle in his body tensing. He looks like he wishes he could be anywhere but here, the tension so evident in his muscles like his body is on fight or flight mode. Finally, he lets out a mirthless smile.

“Not very well, I’m afraid.” His smile is full of teeth. “I am my Mother’s son through and through. But I felt strongly about him. I—” Jaemin clenches his jaw like he’s holding back words and shakes his head. He necks the elderflower tonic like he’s downing a shot, before concluding with, “There’s no one like him.”

Jeno gathers that Jaemin was the source of the problem, then.

“Have you apologised?” Jeno sees the mutinous cast of Jaemin’s face, adding, “It’s not a sign of weakness to admit you were wrong. You’ve become a better man these few years. It’s a good start.”

“I know I should, but—” Jaemin’s chest heaves with suppressed emotion. “ _Fuck_. I really need a drink.” He runs a hand through his hair roughly, his eyes eldritch bright, staring out the window like he wants to jump out. “He _hates_ me. I look into his eyes and I see his contempt and it’s so—” He breaks off, exhaling loudly. “It’s so much easier to pretend he doesn’t exist, because… I’m ashamed to face him. I was a piece of shit to him. I look at him and I see the face of all my worst mistakes. I look at him and I see all my regrets.”

Jeno swallows, his heart going out to Jaemin.

“I don’t think he would hate you.”

“Easily, very easily,” Jaemin says wetly. “Not even a few weeks ago, he told me how much he hates me, so the sentiment is fresh.” He presses the heels of his palm to his eyes. “I don’t blame him though. You don’t know the shit I’ve done to him. Anyways, it’s fine. The best thing I can give him is space, to remove my presence from him. He’s in love with someone else—someone good and kind and nice and entirely deserving of him.”

 _Everything I’m not_ , is heard loud and clear.

Wordlessly, Jeno slides over a handkerchief to Jaemin, who takes it and wipes his eyes. He passes over his glass of water to Jaemin, who takes a few desperate gulps, looking more miserable and regretful than Jeno’s ever seen him. He wonders if this is the first time that Jaemin has ever spoken about his mysterious beau.

“Is everything okay?” The server returns, gesturing at their half-touched plates. “Is the food to your liking?”

“Yes, it was great.” Jeno attempts to divert the attention away from Jaemin, who is staring outside moodily. “Um, could we have the sticky toffee pudding please?” Perhaps an injection of sugar in the form of Jaemin’s favourite pudding would cheer him up. “An Americano for him and fresh mint tea for me, please.”

After the server leaves with their plates, Jaemin pulls himself together, acting as if nothing happened. Clearing his throat, he asks, “Well, what brought this on? Don’t tell me you’re trying for a new career as a therapist.”

Jeno hesitates, wondering if he should pursue this line of conversation considering Jaemin’s state, but decides that since Jaemin had opened up, he should too. “Do you ever think that I married too early?”

Jaemin stares at him for a moment, red-eyed and vulnerable, and looks back down at the used handkerchief. “I can’t answer that question. Marriage is different for everybody else. You can marry at eighteen till death. You can do so at fifty-five and stay for two. There’s no mathematical formula for the perfect marriage.”

Jeno looks at his left hand, the gold band dull on his ring finger, and twists it, feeling how loose it is on him. “It’s just… sometimes I wonder about what could have been, you know? If I hadn’t been so focused on my 10-year plan. If I’d enjoyed my university life like everyone else did instead of studying and working like I did.”

“Take it from me, the other end of the spectrum isn’t that great,” Jaemin mutters bitterly. “Objectively, I lived it up. I fit the stereotype of the modern Oxford student down to the letter—I worked hard and played even harder. Piers Gavs, Oxford Union, polo… I thought if I filled my calendar with parties, I’d be happy, but happiness was as fleeting as the sun in the Scottish Highlands. Nights blurred by in a psychedelic haze until I woke up cold in the morning for the comedown, and I needed another hit just to push me on another day.”

Jeno wasn’t close to him in university as they ran in different social circles, but it was an open secret in their college that Jaemin was in the Piers Gaveston Society, a secret dining club named after the supposed favourite lover of King Edward II of England, notorious for hosting the most provocative and exclusive parties in Oxford.

“Yeah, I get you,” Jeno sighs, his eyes sweeping over the pub, wondering if all these laughing and drinking patrons secretly felt as stagnant as he did, or if it was just him. “I had all these grand lofty goals. Graduate Oxford with a First, qualify at the firm, get married, buy a house… I thought if I did it all then I’d be _happy_.” He breathes out, “But every time I hit my target, I’m not as happy as I thought I would be. Then, I look for my next goal because I think that will actually make me happy.”

“But it doesn’t, no matter how hard you try,” Jaemin says simply. “No matter how many achievements you hit, you remain hollow and unfulfilled, because it’s society's definition of happiness and not yours.”

Their tea and pudding arrives, but he can’t look away from Jaemin, feeling like he’s been socked in the face because Jaemin’s worded the sentiment that Jeno’s been unable to put his finger on.

Jeno places a hand over his chest, like he would be able to see the gaping cavity where he tried to fill with accolades, a great beast with hungry maws that remained unsatiated no matter how much he fed it.

“Jaemin, you’re my best friend,” Jeno begins, his heart pounding. “You’ve known me since I was eighteen. You were my best man at my wedding. Did you ever think I made a mistake?”

Jaemin tilts his head, considering. “Marriage is a choice between you and your spouse. You were convinced it was right, so I never thought that way, no.” He takes a bite of pudding slowly. “The only time I saw you look jittery was before we went to church, but every groom gets cold feet before the big day, so…”

To be honest, Jeno only has a vague recollection of his wedding. He hadn’t slept well the night before as he was so nervous. The anxiety had left no place for any other emotions; not happiness, not sorrow, nothing. He felt numb as he recited his vows, as he signed his name on the registrar, as he kissed Yeeun in front of God and took her as his wife. It was perfunctory, like he was on autopilot and doing what was expected of him.

“Why are you asking these questions about your marriage now, Jeno?”

He stares down at his hands, at the golden band that seems duller than usual. He doesn’t want to say it—doesn’t want to admit it—because Jeno Lee has _never_ failed. Voted the Most Promising Trainee Solicitor twice, and yet Jeno seems to be no exception to Yuta’s assessment on the lifespan of marriages for M&A lawyers

“My marriage is…”

Jeno can’t bring himself to say it to Jaemin, his social superior in every way. To admit that his marriage was crumbling would present a chasm in Jeno’s perfect reputation, the name he worked so hard to polish, the ladder he climbed so high just to fall.

Jaemin takes the burden from him, looking at him gently. “Why did you marry Yeeun?”

It’s a question that Jeno has never had any difficulty replying, only he’s starting to discover that he might have been giving the wrong answer all these years.

“We were together for so many years it felt like the natural progression in our relationship to settle down.”

Jaemin wrinkles his nose. “The term _settle down_ irks me. When I hear it, I think—receiving a deck of cards, but only being able to flip it one at a time, deciding each time you hold one card if this is the best hand you’re going to get. You hedge all your chances on this one card without ever knowing if there’s a better one out there.”

“I’m not a betting man,” Jeno says flatly, taking a sip of soothing tea. “I don’t play card games.”

“You’re missing the point.” Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Okay, say you hold a decent card—a good partner—and you think _this is probably the best I’m going to get, I’m never going to go any higher, so I’ll take it before I lose this card_. At best, you choose them because you think this is the most you can get. At worse, you decide that this is bare minimum tolerable. You’ll never get to see your full deck of cards and you’ll never be able to retain backup options in your pocket. So when we have someone that’s _good enough_ , we fold and take it. We _settle_.”

Jeno gets a sense of déjà vu. He recalls months ago, lying down on the cool vinyl floor in the dance room of the firm, Donghyuck was equally derisive of settling down. Except this time, Jeno _gets_ it.

“Do you think it’s the fear of missing out?” Jeno asks, leaning forward, seizing on the thought. “The kind of psychology employed by discount retailers like TK Maxx—here today, gone tomorrow. So even if there are small flaws, if something seems good enough to you _now_ , you snatch it up, because it might not be here next time. We _settle_ because we want to have something, so even if it’s not perfect, it’s _good enough_.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever been into one of those bargain bins,” Jaemin says dubiously, “but you’re probably right.”

Jeno continues, feeling like his eyes are finally open. “It’s _settling_ , just like how we settle lawsuits, because it’s not worth the fight in court. Because it’s better to take _something_ than to have _nothing._ Better to go home with a little—maybe not all that you could have had if you fought till the end—but better than none. Better that than to throw an acceptable proposition for a wild card, because what are the chances you’re going to get the best?”

“Do you think you settled?”

The question throws Jeno off. He gapes at Jaemin, who casually taps a spoon to his pudding, looking utterly unconcerned of how he’s thrown Jeno thoughts into turmoil.

Indignation bursts in him. “Yeeun is beautiful, supportive, kind and comes from a good family. How could I have _settled_ for her when she’s more than I deserve? Everyone knows I’m lucky to marry her.”

Jaemin takes a slow sip of his coffee, unperturbed. “Why did you get married at twenty-five? Why then?”

“I knew Yeeun wanted to get married before she was thirty.”

Jaemin’s smile is condescending. “She was hardly an old maid at twenty-seven. You could have waited three more years to accumulate more savings for the marriage pot. Why twenty-five?”

The words tear out of him like fireworks. “Because you were talking about the tax advantages about marriage. Because I was so busy with work that I never would have found anyone else. Because she was everything that a wife should be! Is that what you want to hear?”

Jeno instantly regrets his outburst when the next table over glances at him. _Airing his dirty laundry in public_ …

Jaemin dabs his mouth delicately with the napkin. “I can’t believe one of my inane conversations about the tax advantages of marriage convinced you to marry someone.” He pauses, “Jeno love, no tax advantages are worth the cost of divorce.”

Jeno inhales sharply, lowering his teacup onto the saucer with a clink.

 _Divorce_. He had never actually let himself think about that term. To hear the word spoken out loud made it seem so… possible. Not just a remote theoretical concept, but an actual option.

“Jeno… are you thinking of divorcing Yeeun?”

His chest hurts. Jeno’s hands are shaking so badly he places them on the table, and he catches sight of his wedding band. Involuntary, the words come to him— _Yeeun, I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage. With my body, I honour you. All that I am, I give to you. All that I have, I share with you._

“Doesn’t every spouse consider it at one point of their marriage?” he mumbles.

Jaemin tries to catch his eyes. “Not you,” he says gently. “You don’t entertain superfluous thoughts. If your marriage is troubled, you would try to fix it. You wouldn’t think about taking the final step to kill it.”

He recalls that dinner with Yuta in Budapest. It’s only three months ago but it seems like a lifetime has passed. Jeno tries to imagine calling up his secretary to book an appointment, hearing Yuta’s cheerful voice as they discuss a strategy on exiting the marriage, putting a value on their marital contributions, divvying up the assets, doing the most to come out of it a _winner_. As if anyone could win in a divorce.

Jeno lifts his teacup and takes a shaky sip of tea, his throat dry as bone. “And what if a marriage is already dead? What then?”

Jaemin exhales, rubbing his face. He looks hollow-cheeked and pallid, as human and fallible as Jeno feels. It’s funny, Jeno has witnessed a lot of the turmoil that Jaemin has been throughout the decade, but for years Jeno still saw him as the Jaemin he first met at matriculation. Perfect, confident and utterly untouchable. A God amongst men. Even in a group of freshers wearing the same black subfusc full academic gown, Jaemin looked sharp. Out of reach. It’s only just recently that Jeno started feeling like they could almost be equals. _Almost_.

“Hell if I know. Mummy only imparted how to gain the most from her divorces. As if she needed the money or the land.” Jaemin falls quiet as the waitress pops open a bottle of champagne at the next table over. A wry smile plays on his lips as they hear the joyous chant of _happy anniversary_. “But you know what not to do?”

Jeno inclines his head, asking wordlessly.

“Don’t have a child to save your marriage,” Jaemin says seriously, turning back to Jeno. “It won’t fix anything and you’ll only introduce an innocent in a line of fire. No one will be happy. Trust me on this.”

No one knows better than Jaemin. Born to a set of absent, warring parents who used him as a pawn on the chessboard. The irony that a drawn-out custody battle in the public domain did not equate to a love so great they were willing to fight tooth and nail for him, seeing as Jaemin was shafted to boarding school from the age of seven. Holidays spent with a revolving door of help; lessons learnt on the infinite replaceability of people. It’s likely just the tip of the iceberg, because Jaemin is unforthcoming with the details.

A child is a gift, Jeno thinks with a heavy heart. “Children deserve to come first. They shouldn’t be punished for the sins of their parents.”

Jeno’s childhood wasn’t easy, but it was formative. Since he could remember, his parents worked long hours at the Korean restaurant. His parents were not demonstrative with their love, but they worked themselves to the bone so Jeno could have a better future. They weren’t just an ATM machine, paying for his school trips, his sporting kit, his piano lessons… they gave Jeno the best bits of food so he would grow strong at the price of their own health. They sacrificed themselves for the children, which was perhaps the truest sign of love.

“Exactly. Better to walk away now than to tie yourself to a life of responsibility and misery,” Jaemin says bitterly, his face twisted in contempt. “No child should grow up knowing they’re an unwanted experiment gone wrong. There’s no shame in a clean break. Cut your losses now rather than to drown with a sinking ship.”

Was it too premature to jump ship though? What about the vows he swore at church, the legal contract that bound him to Yeeun, for now and ever? For better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.

He thinks of Donghyuck’s brilliance and brightness, how he lights up Jeno’s day. He thinks about Donghyuck’s vivaciousness, how he makes Jeno feel the joys of living. He thinks of Donghyuck’s incredible mind and witty tongue, how he’s a breath of fresh air to everything Jeno’s ever known.

Then, he thinks of Yeeun. He thinks of their years of shared history and her comforting familiarity. He thinks of how good she has been to him, how she’s been supporting him from the very beginning. He thinks about how great they are together—how proud his parents were, how he earnt his peers’ respect.

It hurts to make a choice. It was nice to be normal, conventional, the man who had it all. Jeno had come so far as a first-generation immigrant, the first in his family in higher education with a professional job. Beyond the bragging rights to being society’s version of perfect, it felt _good_ to be accepted and respected by the mainstream public. He still wanted, _yearned_ to be that man with the successful job, beautiful wife and wonderful home.

He wishes he could be content with that. He wishes he hadn’t seen past the façade, saw the cracks in the foundation, the shakiness of the levels. He wishes he could have been ignorant in bliss. But he met Donghyuck who blazed through his life like a meteorite and set him on fire. He tore down Jeno’s carefully constructed walls and made him know what being alive meant. And suddenly, living like this wasn’t sufficient anymore.

“For a divorce,” Jaemin says, snapping Jeno from his thoughts. “There has to be a legally recognised marriage in the UK for over a year and the relationship has permanently broken down for one of five reasons. The most common is unreasonable behaviour, which can be very trivial matters like the unequal division of menial chores or whatnot if the divorce is uncontested.”

“However, if claiming adultery as the reason for divorce, it must be your spouse’s adultery, you cannot rely on your own. That is—” Jaemin takes a deep breath. “You must be the _victim_ of adultery, not the _adulterer_.”

Jeno’s heart skips a beat at the pointed remark, his face draining of blood, his body paralysed in shock.

“Jeno.” Jaemin’s eyes are glassy beneath the chandelier light. He opens his mouth, hesitates, and then asks, hushed, “You’re in love with him, aren’t you? That’s why you want a divorce?”

Jeno closes his eyes, feels the noose settle around his throat. He pulls at the neckline of his cycling jersey, trying to get some oxygen into his lungs. He gulps, “Am I that obvious?”

It takes Jaemin such a long time to answer that Jeno musters the strength to open his eyes. He finds that Jaemin looks as pained as Jeno feels.

“I’m your best friend. I’ve seen you throughout the years and I’ve never seen you so happy. I’ve also never seen him—” Jaemin breaks off immediately, coughing.

Jeno catches his words, pushing aside his primal fear as he registers that Jaemin _knows_.

“You know who it is?”

Jaemin stops, his eyes wide, like he has given himself away. At first, he looks ready to deny it, but then he sighs quietly, his lashes fluttering weakly against his cheeks like a struggling hummingbird trying to stay afloat. His shoulders slump, his head bows, and Jaemin seems defeated.

His lips move but Jeno doesn’t catch it.

“Duckie.” Jaemin repeats in a trembling voice. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, speaking more audibly. “Donghyuck. You’re in love with Donghyuck Lee.”

Jaemin won’t look at Jeno.

Jeno reaches across the wooden table, placing his hand over Jaemin’s, his gold wedding band pressing against the face of Jaemin’s gold signet ring.

“Are you upset at me?”

Jaemin is utterly still for a moment, his face unreadable. Then, he flips his hand so their fingers are intertwined. For some reason, Jaemin looks unbearably sad.

“You’re my best friend, Jeno. I only wish for your happiness and he makes you happy.” Jaemin’s voice is pained, but the sincerity rings through. “Whatever I feel for Donghyuck is irrelevant. You should live your life regardless of what happened in the past. Whatever decision you choose to make, I’m here for you.”

The noose tightens around his neck, the coarse fibres digging into the sensitive skin of his throat, and Jeno can’t get the words out. He should be happy for Jaemin’s support, but somehow, he feels utterly petrified by this development, by the significance of their conversation. It feels like the end is near, and Jeno still has no idea what to do.

“Just…” Jaemin hesitates visibly, and then his grip on Jeno’s hand becomes oppressive. His eyes brim again with that eldritch emotion Jeno can’t decipher, and his voice takes on uncharacteristic urgency. “Just take care of him, okay? He’s more fragile than you think. Love him well. Love him for all that he’s been through before.”

**December**

“Love your neighbour as thyself. Let us embrace one another and say— _peace be with you_.”

It’s not the Reverend’s mumble that draws Jeno from his reverie, it’s the sound of the congregation standing up as one, turning to embrace each other with hugs, kisses and handshakes.

Yeeun—standing—looks at him expectantly, and Jeno immediately gets up, but he’s a bit too late. Elkie, to her left, reaches to embrace Yeeun and kiss her on both cheeks.

Feeling rather awkward, Jeno turns around, greeting his fellow churchgoers in the pew behind him, shaking hands and muttering, “Peace be with you.”

As the various members of clergy walk down the aisle, Jeno goes to shake their hands, receiving their blessing. By the time he returns to his seat, the opening keys to a hymn are playing, so the moment is lost. Yeeun flips open the hymnbook, beginning to sing, and Jeno follows her lead.

Christmas had been… terse.

The highlight of the holiday was definitely the firm’s Christmas party. Jeno rather wished that he had signed up for the firm’s winter retreat, but he was not a good skier and felt that going now was rather conspicuous after he had rejected so many of Jaemin’s previous invitations.

To be fair, Christmas wasn’t _awful_ , it was exactly the same as the previous five years, and it was just that which made Jeno realise his usual was so monotonous. On Christmas Eve, they had gone to Yeeun’s parents’ house for dinner before Midnight Mass. Then, they hosted Christmas dinner for both sets of their parents at their house. On Boxing Day, they had gone to visit Jeno’s parents.

It was _dull_ and Jeno had a high tolerance of dullness, considering he read five hundred pages of terms & conditions on the regular. Never had he ever wished for the holidays to be over; Jeno would take the boredom of contract if it meant he could return to work to meet Donghyuck. No amount of texting and furtive calls in his office could assuage the longing he felt.

From their texts, Jeno gathered that Donghyuck was lonely. He _ached_ knowing that Donghyuck was alone in his flat and had no loved ones to celebrate with. He wished desperately that he could be with him. Since he couldn’t, he resorted to sending Donghyuck gifts every single day.

Jeno hadn’t intended on going 12 Days of Christmas on him. It had been something born out of worry; Donghyuck had been so inundated with work in the run up to the holidays that he hadn’t the time to buy food in the shops, so Jeno had a Christmas hamper delivered to him, not wanting him to subsist on a diet of sad sandwiches, rice and instant ramen. But then, he saw how the gift cheered Donghyuck up, and started sending them to remind him that he was constantly in Jeno’s thoughts.

Some gifts were small like a box of chocolates and Donghyuck’s favourite wine. Then it became a Byredo candle and a Mont Blanc fountain pen. And then there were some gifts that Jeno bought because he _wanted_ to. A pair of Christian Louboutin stomping boots, a Dior coat to match Jeno’s own, and—Donghyuck’s Christmas gift—a beautiful Cartier Ballon Bleu watch because every lawyer should have a proper timepiece.

Thankfully, the New Year is tomorrow, so they will soon be back in the office before Jeno bankrupts himself on expensive gifts for Donghyuck.

The tolling of the church bells, heavy and solemn, tears Jeno from his thoughts of Donghyuck.

Something touches his left hand and Jeno jerks, flinching. When he looks up, he finds Yeeun—taken aback but still smiling politely—indicating that it’s their turn to leave the pew for communion.

Jeno flushes, not realising that he had been so caught up in his daydreams that he had tuned out the Reverend, the usher and his wife. After smoothing down his wool blazer, Jeno offers his arm to Yeeun, escorting her down the aisle to the dais as routine.

They break apart beneath the cross. Jeno kneels at an empty spot in front of the podium, his head bowed, eyes lowered, and hands outstretched. Other the muted swish of the priests’ robes against carpet as they bustle about and the inaudible mumble as they provide blessings, it’s so quiet that Jeno can hear his own pounding heartbeat.

Today, the process seems to drag on. The bench is cushioned and objectively soft on his knees, but he feels scrutinised— _judged_ —for his every move, and it’s as comfortable as kneeling suppliant for hours on broken glass. The scent of Frankincense and myrrh wafting in the air suffocates him.

For some inexplicable reason, Jeno has always felt nervous during communion. There’s a sobering sense of majesty and solemness to stand before God and ask for His blessing.

From the corner of Jeno’s eye, he sees Yeeun rise—a slender, elegant figure in virginal white, as pure as Mary—and make the sign of the cross before she leaves.

Five years ago, before this Reverend at this exact altar, Jeno swore a sacred vow in front of God to take Yeeun as his wife for now and ever.

Does he sense that Jeno is a sinner unworthy to even gather crumbs beneath His table? Is this Jeno’s penance—to prostrate himself before the church, to repent before God? Will he be sent away, a demon ostracised?

“Body of Christ.”

A piece of wafer slips into Jeno’s pleading hands and he nearly sags in relief. With shaking hands, he struggles to lift this weightless biscuit to his mouth. It tastes heavy.

“Blood of Christ.”

The bishop lifts the chalice of red wine and Jeno leans forward, drinking deeply. He empathises with alcoholics who attend church for drink; Jeno is, after all, desperate for salvation. To be forgiven of his sin and wrongdoing.

The wine sloshes against his mouth and cheek as the priest takes away the chalice. Jeno averts his eyes, hastily making the sign of the cross before fleeing the bench, not wanting to see the judgement in the Reverend’s eyes.

As he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, it comes away red like blood.

Jeno looks up, meeting someone’s eyes, and he tears his gaze away. It’s unnerving; he has this feeling that people are looking at him with hostility, and it frightens him.

When he returns to his seat, he feels like he’s fought a war. Yeeun briefly glances at him as he dabs his forehead with his handkerchief, but Jeno turns forward, pretending to be engrossed by the service.

The only saving grace is that communion heralds the end. Service concludes with the final hymn of the day and the congregation claps politely as the organ plays the last jubilant note.

Following everyone else’s lead, Jeno bows his head for the final prayer. But a prayer—previously so ingrained to him that it came like second nature—doesn’t come forward to him now. He struggles, trying to think of something, but after a long moment, he can’t think of anything, like a well that has run dry. By now, the acceptable amount of time to pray has passed, so Jeno sits up, even though he feels strange and incomplete.

Immediately, he meets eyes with Yeeun, who is already standing with her handbag. “Jeno,” she says, looping an arm around Elkie’s elbow. “I’m just going to introduce Elkie to the girls. I’ll meet up with you later?”

Jeno inclines his head, watching them amble over to the _girls_ , which was rather a generous term, considering they were all mothers with a median age of forty-two. He easily spots Elkie from the flock, an imposter with dark hair and a searing red coat amongst a group of blondes dressed in cream.

Inside the breast pocket of Jeno’s blazer, he feels the solid lump of his phone against the left of his chest, but he doesn’t dare check it. Not inside the church. Not with God’s eye on him.

Instead, he wanders over to the refreshments table, smiling genially as he accepts a cup of tea—Yorkshire tea, of course—and takes a chocolate digestive biscuit.

“Jeno, you alright?”

Jeno turns around, smiling politely at Rupert Gough-Calthorpe. “You alright, Rups? How were the holidays?”

“I’ve just come back from Wiltshire yesterday and let me just say, I’ll miss the fresh air, but not anything else.” Rupert looks every bit the off-duty country man in his Schöffel gilet, salmon-coloured chinos and Hunter wellies, his signet ring glinting brighter than his wedding band. “I narrowly avoided an accident involving my father-in-law instead of the pheasants on the Boxing Day hunt.”

“I don’t suppose Amelia-Rose would be very happy about that.”

“I’m not so sure about that. My wife wasn’t happy that her father restricted access to the children’s trust fund.”

Jeno sips his tea slowly. “And how are Mia-Jane and Benedict?”

“They’re—” Rupert glances around, as if only just noticing that his six-year-old twins aren’t around. “Ah, I think Melons was complaining that they were making a fuss and the nanny took them home.”

Reflexively, Jeno glances over to Amelia-Rose, currently speaking to the church volunteer committee head with an expression that wouldn’t look out of place on Mother Theresa. The nickname could potentially refer to her honeydew coloured eyes, but knowing the public-school set, Jeno would hedge his bets on her sizeable _assets_.

“Lovely.” Jeno glances at his watch. “Ah, Rups, you’ll have to excuse me. I have a call to take at half past.”

“Ah, the grind never stops.” Rupert tips his cup to Jeno like he would with a pint glass. “I get you, old boy.”

Jeno strongly doubts that Rupert—a director at his father’s art gallery—has ever pulled an all-nighter for work, but excuse in hand, he’s able to escape from the church, breathing in gulps of fresh air on the church green. He’s about to head straight to his Range Rover when he sees a splotch of vivid red.

It’s Elkie. But she’s not alone.

With an inward sigh, he heads in her direction. “Alistair, I thought I saw you,” he greets, standing shoulder to shoulder with Elkie, who seems unamused by his presence. “I was sorry to hear the troubles in your consulting business, but since you’re home from Malaga, I assume that everything got sorted out?”

“Ah. Jeno.” Alistair’s smile looks more like a grimace. “I sold the business and now I’m a venture capitalist, looking to invest in new and exciting companies. Tell me, how is dearest Yeeun?”

“She’s well, thank you.” Jeno smiles blandly. “I’ve seen that you’ve met Elkie, my wife’s friend.”

“Yes.” Alistair directs a benign smile at her. “We were in the middle of an animated conversation about Hong Kong before you came. I was telling Elkie that I have a soft spot for the city since I worked there for decades.”

Alistair McArthur is filth. Literally, metaphorically and acronymically.

At fifty-two, he’s been divorced thrice, officially on grounds of unreasonable behaviour but widely known for infidelity. It’s curious that he always ends up dating the sweet girls who support him during the trying times of his divorces. Alistair ages like Leonardo DiCaprio, but his revolving door of girlfriends never do. He’s filth.

Failed In London, Try Hong Kong (‘FILTH’). With no connections and a 2.2 degree from a non Russell Group university, Alistair wouldn’t have made it through the front doors of a City bank. But he possessed something greater which earned him a cushy investment banking job in pre handover Hong Kong—white male privilege.

Alistair McArthur, with no great skill but an innate sense of entitlement natural to a white man, grew an inflated ego from his time in colonial Hong Kong. In London, no woman would have given him the time of the day. But in Hong Kong, with his British passport and high-paying job, he was a golden ticket out of political turmoil.

It seems that even now, back in London, Alistair hasn’t forgotten his old ways.

“It’s such a shame that you retired,” Jeno says mildly. “HSBC must have been sad to see you go.”

Alistair goes as ruddy as Elkie’s coat. Rather impressive, considering the pancake of fake tan that made him look like a burnt madeleine. He might have survived the handover and weathered the 1997 Asian Financial Crisis, but the 2008 Financial Crisis was the expiry date for an overpriced, inefficient expat banker when the tides were turning in favour of China. Everyone knew it was either quit with dignity or be made redundant.

“Yes, well,” Alistair blusters, clearing his throat brusquely. He reaches into his breast pocket and hands Elkie a card. “Anyways, love. I’d be interested in hearing more about CLC. Do give me a ring and we can chat more.”

The two of them watch Alistair waddle to the sidewalk and struggle to get into his tiny Porsche 911.

In the loud silence after the revving of the exhaust engine, Jeno says quietly, “I hope you don’t actually intend to take him up on that offer.”

As if to defy Jeno, Elkie pockets the card, taking a deliberate step away from him. “And what concern is it to you if I do? CLC is on the cusp of expansion into the continental European market. We need more investors.”

“Don’t take me on my word.” Jeno folds his hands behind his back. “But there is a reason why Yeeun hasn’t taken up his proposal despite numerous offers. Alistair enjoys a _personal_ touch to his business.”

Elkie purses her red painted lips. She’s from Hong Kong, so prior to her residency, she was working on a Tier 2 visa. Considering the stringent immigration rules, she was most likely sponsored by a multinational corporation. Therefore, she can’t be unintelligent.

“Be that as it may be,” Elkie says crisply. “Yeeun does not have the most discerning choice of men.”

Jeno goes speechless at the barbed remark. Surely, she didn’t imply what he thought she did, right? Jeno had a feeling that Elkie wasn’t fond of him, but to liken him to a fraud and a cheat like Alistair is out of turn.

“Alistair didn’t just leave behind an illustrative career in Hong Kong, he left behind the spouts he sowed from spreading his wild oats,” he says incredulously. “He hankers for the city, but he won’t ever step foot in it again in fear of law enforcement chasing him for unpaid child maintenance.”

Elkie’s delicate nose wrinkles like she smells something foul. “Distasteful, but unsurprising. Men always make promises they don’t keep.” Her eyes scan over him and she looks distinctly unimpressed. “I’m a lesbian, I’m not here for a ring, I only care about his ability to invest in the company, unlike some people.”

Jeno stares at her for a moment, his brain whirling as he tries to keep up with what she means. “If you’re referring to the fact that I’m not a shareholder in the company—”

“You’re her husband and yet you won’t invest a single penny,” Elkie interrupts, pointing a long, sharp finger at him. Jeno rears back—those talons could claw his eyes out. “When the company was founded, you refused to use the house as collateral or to be the personal guarantor for her loan.”

“The house was purchased with a mortgage in my name and the bank would have direct access to it if I signed that loan agreement,” Jeno explains shortly. “20% of small businesses fail within the first year and that rate increases to 60% within the first three. If Yeeun defaults on her loan, she goes bankrupt in her personal capacity, but at least we’d have a house to live in. It was a risk management strategy calculated to protect us.”

“Risk management?” Elkie repeats, folding her arms over her chest. “You basically told your wife you thought she would fail before she even started.”

Jeno purses his lips, “Yeeun understands that diversification is a risk management strategy.”

“Spare me the legalese. This is your spouse, not some corporate client you’re dealing with at arm’s length.” Elkie says contemptuously. “What she understood was that you thought she was a risk not worth taking.”

The winter wind lashing against his face is less searing than Elkie’s words. “I advised her in my capacity as a corporate lawyer that this was an unwise move for our finances and Yeeun agreed that it was for the best.”

“No, this is what you did—you came in wearing your hotshot City lawyer hat and imposed this on her.” She looks at him like he’s dirt beneath her stiletto. “Do you honestly think _Yeeun_ would have disagreed with you, the breadwinner in the family? Do you think she would have rocked the boat so early in the marriage?”

Nonplussed, Jeno stares at her. Yeeun had been understanding, or at least he thought she had been.

“Did you ever consider her feelings?” Elkie presses on, her words rising with intensity as a flurry of dead leaves whipped past. “CLC isn’t a flight of fancy, a pet project she created because she was bored of being a lady who lunches, it’s her lifelong ambition! And rather than support her, you threw her to the wolves.”

Now that’s rather dramatic, Jeno thinks, his lips thinning. He wishes that they weren’t have this conversation here in the open, but at least parish green is empty, only tombstones as the audience to this _disagreement_.

“I recommended she seek her parents because they had three properties while we had one.”

This time, it’s Elkie who goes speechless. “How emotionally obtuse can you get?” She stares at him in marked disbelief. “On paper it’s all so neat and tidy, but if you knew anything about the relationship between Yeeun and her parents, you would never have done that. How can you even…”

Jeno tilts his head. From all the years he knew Yeeun, he saw they had a civil relationship.

Elkie exhales loudly. When she looks at him again, she does nothing to hold back her naked disapproval. “You know _nothing_ about your wife and you’ve never tried.”

Somehow, her cold condemnation is more blistering than her bitter vitriol.

“Her parents are very controlling and conservative. They believe that a woman’s purpose is to marry and start a family, not to hold an occupation. They never thought she was capable of achieving anything on her own.” She says coldly. “And _you_ … you let her found the company but wouldn’t give her any support because you thought she was a bad risk. You just reinforced her parents’ belief that she isn’t good enough.”

Jeno feels like the rug has been pulled from beneath him. He flounders, his brain trying to assimilate this new knowledge, reconciling it with the interactions he saw between them, but…

“She secured the loan with her parents’ third property,” Jeno says, but his voice wavers. “They… evidently they had to see something in her.”

Elkie throws her hair back, laughing like Jeno said the funniest joke, but he’s dead serious. When she stops, the look on her face is one of pity, only he doesn’t think it’s directed to him. “Oh, you really are clueless, huh?”

“I think you’ve already established what you think of me.” Jeno says brusquely. He would never be so impolite, but he’s getting tired of being berated for his lack of knowledge and then being unable to correct it.

Hell could freeze over with the withering look she throws at him. At last, she says grudgingly, “Yeeun didn’t convince her parents on grounds of merit. She begged them in floods of tears and then they gave in. Didn’t you see the millions of rules they imposed on that loan?”

Jeno was unable to accompany Yeeun to the bank where she signed papers with her parents. All she told him was that it was settled. He vaguely remembered that she was more reserved than usual the next time they met her parents, but he had put it down to the initial awkwardness of conducting family business.

“But she’s repaid the loan.”

This, Jeno remembers very clearly, because against his advice of taking the profits and reinvesting into the company, Yeeun was adamant on repaying the loan even though it was a good debt with very low interest rate.

Elkie snorts derisively like he’s proving her point. “And yet, they’re still here, aren’t they? They hold shares in a private limited company with special preferential rights that make them impossible to buy out, if she even had the guts to do it. The damage is done, she’ll never be independent of her parents, who think her incompetent.”

The scorn in Elkie’s voice has him feeling defensive. “Yeeun’s success is a result of her own. I didn’t want to be a shareholder in her company, because there should be a division between work and personal relationship.”

“If only you applied that sage advice to her parents.” She says coldly.

Jeno musters the patience he reserves for his most disagreeable clients. “What is it you would have me do?”

Elkie gazes at him with unforgiving eyes, and then she shakes her head like he’s not even worth any more of her time. Her smile is like ice, brittle and cutting. “You dug our own grave, now you must lie in it.”

She leaves him amongst the tombstones, the flutter of her red coat stark among the skeleton trees, barren of greenery, a murky morning that leaves Jeno feeling distinctly unsettled.

He returns to his car, turning the heat up high, trying to ward off the chill. He doesn’t want to consider what Elkie means, not here, not now, not with Yeeun so close to him.

And speak of the devil, the door opens and Yeeun gets in.

“Let’s go,” she says, plopping her handbag by the centre console.

Startled, Jeno presses the accelerator hard, causing the car to jolt forward, the force flinging Yeeun so much that she’s only just restrained by her seatbelt.

“ _Christ_ ,” Jeno swears, lessening the pressure on the pedal, his heart pounding. His eyes dart to Yeeun, whose blonde hair drapes across her face. “Are you alright?”

He hears her take several deep breaths, not daring to take his eyes off the road after that near miss.

“I’m sorry,” Jeno apologises. “You scared me there.”

“It wasn’t my intention to,” she says, her voice strange.

“Are you okay?” Jeno asks, seeing how she’s pressing a hand to her mouth.

In response, Yeeun presses the button by the side door, lowering the window and angling her head. He hears her breathe deeply even through the rippling of the wind, and Jeno feels guilty. Yeeun got motion sickness easily.

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive at the Spaniards Inn. Jeno walks to Yeeun’s side to open the door for her, where she gingerly takes his arm and allows him to escort her to the restaurant.

He feels her tense when the hostess glances them over, asking, “Will your guest be arriving momentarily?” as she taps on the iPad to retrieve their reservation.

Jeno glances over to Yeeun, who has a polite smile on her lips. “I’m afraid she’s otherwise occupied.”

This is news to Jeno, who hadn’t even known that Elkie was joining them for lunch since she had stormed away like a woman on a warpath, but he knows better than to bring it up as they settle at their usual table.

The server asks, “Could I start you off with some drinks?”

Since Jeno is driving, he replies, “I’ll just have a tonic water with lemon, please.”

“Still water for me,” Yeeun says, not even glancing at the wine menu. “I’ll have the roast chicken, please.”

The server turns to him expectantly, “And you, sir?”

Jeno blinks. Usually, they order drinks and starters first, then decide on their mains as if they don’t get the same thing every time. Flustered, he glances down at the menu even though he’s been here for years. “Um, I’ll—”

“He’ll have the roast beef, thank you.” Yeeun cuts in, looking at the server directly.

Jeno nods to indicate his agreement, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. He feels thrown, like he’s acting in a play where everyone is going off-script.

The two of them are not the chattiest people, but even this is quiet for them. Jeno can’t help but think about Elkie’s words—the fact that Elkie _knew_ things about Yeeun that Jeno didn’t. Did Yeeun complain to her? She had been so understanding at the time, but did she harbour resentment towards him for his so-called rejection? Why didn’t she say anything if she was upset? Jeno can’t understand why she would be afraid to _rock the boat_. After all, it was Jeno who was always striving to prove himself worthy of her.

Staring at Yeeun now—who still looks a bit peaky beneath her perfectly applied makeup—he wonders just what he doesn’t know about his wife. She catches his eye and smiles, and Jeno tries to smile back.

“The chrysanthemums are very nice.”

“Sorry?” He replies clumsily, belatedly seeing how she’s looking at the little vase of yellow flowers by the side of the table. “Oh these?”

“They’re autumnal flowers, they’ll grow until frost so they’re quite hardy. They have simple, basic needs. They can be strong with just a little love.” She cradles the chrysanthemum delicately. “Aren’t they pretty?”

He rather thought they looked like funeral flowers. “Yes.”

“They’re the flowers of the month of November.” She waits a moment, but when he has nothing to say, she adds, “Haven’t you seen them in our garden?”

“You gardened?” Jeno asks, blinking. “You were in Hong Kong at the end of October.”

Pink dusts over Yeeun’s cheeks and she purses her lips, her voice even. “Well, I suppose if we’re being technical, I chose the flowers and Wanda gardened.”

Jeno fights an internal grimace at the mention of Wanda. He prays that she didn’t say anything to Yeeun. “Well, I’m sure the flowers were very nice.” He looks behind him, spotting the server coming towards them bearing their plates. “Oh look, the food’s here, how wonderful.”

After they say grace—Jeno very grateful to move away from the thorny topic of Wanda—they start eating.

“How’s your beef?” Yeeun asks, stripping the chicken from the bones elegantly.

Jeno reaches for the condiments and salts his beef liberally. “Bland,” he chews and swallows, “but acceptable.” He returns the question politely, “How’s the chicken?”

“Dry,” she says, pouring a river of gravy onto it, “but food on the table is a blessing we must appreciate.”

Jeno tries to continue the conversation, but the harder he thinks, the more he draws a blank, ideas evading him like sand through his fingers. All their usual subjects—work, family, friends, current events—have been ruminated and exhausted beyond belief in the week they spent together for the holidays. Is this the toll of twelve years together? That everything that’s been said has already been said?

He tries to imagine all the years to come. All the future holidays that he spends bored out of his mind, his body with Yeeun, his heart with Donghyuck. A disembowelled, disembodied figure torn into two, never to be truly whole with either.

His fork screeches across porcelain and Jeno looks down, belatedly realising that he had eaten without even tasting it. He puts down his utensils, surreptitiously glancing at his watch for the time. It’s been less than half an hour since they’ve arrived, but they’re almost done.

Yeeun pushes her dish away, the chicken half-touched, and she takes a deep drink of water. They look at each other for a moment, and then she raises, murmuring, “Excuse me.”

While Yeeun uses the toilet, Jeno takes the opportunity to ask for the bill.

“Hey Jeno,” Sophie greets him cheerfully, passing over the card machine. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Jeno says politely, tapping his card to the reader.

A young woman interrupts their small talk, rushing up to Sophie while clutching a wailing baby. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but he won’t stop crying, and I don’t know what to do.” She looks on the verge of tears herself.

“Ah, sorry about that, Jeno.” Sophie throws him an apologetic look before taking the baby in her arms, rocking him gently and humming a soft tune. “Lizzie, will you do the card machine for me?”

Lizzie—Sophie’s sister, he would presume, given their visible resemblance—obediently collects Jeno’s receipt and hands him his copy, and then she takes the stack of used plates and hightails out of there.

Jeno watches her rock her son gently in her arms, humming a soft tune that causes the baby to quieten.

“This is my son, Jamie,” Sophie says quietly, only having eyes for her baby. “All hands are needed since it’s the festive season, so I came down to help out. He’s usually not fussy, so I left Lizzie to watch him upstairs.”

“He looks like you,” Jeno says, peering her face. “I think you’re doing a great job, you’re a wonderful mother.”

“Aw, Jeno, you’re such a sweetheart.” Sophie smiles warmly at him. “Would you like to hold him?”

Before Jeno can refuse— _he’s never held a baby before, what if he drops him, oh my God this is such a bad idea_ —Sophie places the little boy in his arms.

Jeno stares, his breath caught in his throat. Tufts of golden curls peek out from beneath the white woolly bonnet, and he can’t help but touch the soft curls. The baby is heavier than Jeno expected, seemingly strong and delicate at the same time. When Jeno touches Jamie’s little hand, pink puffy eyelids flutter open, revealing bright blue eyes. Something aches in Jeno’s chest when he sees the gumless smile the baby bestows him.

“Oh, you’re a natural, you’ve got great grip,” Sophie compliments him as Jeno rocks the baby hesitantly. “I just know you’ll be a great father.”

Yeeun chooses this opportune moment to return from the toilet. She halts in her steps, completely taken aback, wide eyes moving from him to the baby in his arms, back and forth.

Jeno tenses, unable to look away from Yeeun’s blank expression. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

Sophie extends her arms and Jeno gives the baby one last look—the angelic face, the small button nose, the rosy chubby cheeks, the soft pout of the mouth—and then he carefully returns him to her.

“Ah Yeeun,” Sophie smiles as Yeeun comes back to the table. “This is my son, Jamie. I was just telling Jeno that he would make a fine dad.”

“Ah yes.” Yeeun loops an arm around Jeno’s elbow. “My perfect husband would of course make a great father. He can do no wrong.” She smiles up at him, and Jeno shifts, smiling uncomfortably back at her.

After a bit of idle chit chat, they leave the pub, walking back to the car without talking. He starts the car wordlessly, taking care to drive more carefully. Jeno resigns himself to a quiet ride, but just as they get on the main road, Yeeun breaks the silence.

“What do you think of a baby?”

“Excuse me?” he exclaims, nearly slamming on the brakes. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

“I said, what do you think of a baby?”

So Jeno hasn’t suddenly started hallucinating things. That’s good, but—

“So suddenly? Where is this coming from?”

“What do you mean _suddenly_?” Yeeun snaps, shocking Jeno. “How can you even _ask_ that? Have you not been paying attention? It’s not just Sophie, it’s Mrs Hutcherson from church, it’s Mrs Spencer, our neighbour—I’ve been dogged by the whole community.”

“I… you shouldn’t listen to neighbourhood gossip,” Jeno says, taken aback. “Their opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Fine, don’t listen to _neighbourhood gossip,_ but what about my parents and your parents?” Yeeun demands. “They’ve been pressing me on why I’m _still_ not pregnant five years into marriage. Your mum has been sending me pamphlets about fertility, that every day I idle _I_ risk the baby being born with genetic abnormalities! Your father is ill and he tells me that he’d like to hold his grandson before he passes away! Do you know how humiliating it is to have my own mother tell me how to _entice_ my own husband?”

Struck into silence, Jeno recalls how Yeeun had pounced on him with uncharacteristic enthusiasm after returning from a visit to his parents a while back. When he said they didn’t have condoms, she said they didn’t need it, so he inferred that she was on the Pill. Since they were (supposed to be) monogamous _,_ the condom was mainly for the convenience of clean-up rather than active prevention of STDs and pregnancy.

At the red light, Jeno stops, and then he realises— “You tried to get pregnant without telling me?”

“What do you mean I didn’t tell you?” She says coolly. “When you signed me under your health insurance plan months ago, I told you they didn’t cover the brand of Pill I was using. You said it was fine because we had the condom. Then, I told you for the past few times we didn’t need it. What else could it have been?”

“Forgive me if I don’t remember the exact details of _your_ medication, but that’s beside the point.”

“I don’t know why you’re so defensive about this,” Yeeun says. “You’re the one who always wanted a child.”

Jeno feels like he’s been slapped in the face.

Hoarsely, he says, “Don’t talk about it like that.” He stares at the road that leads them home, and it feels too far away. “It’s…” he swallows, his tongue like sandpaper, “it’s too soon.”

“It’s been _years_ ,” Yeeun evidently disagrees. She softens her voice like he’s a wild animal. “We’re in the future now, things are settled. We have good jobs, a home in a great area, sufficient savings…”

Jeno grips the steering wheel tight. “And those _good jobs_ take up most of our time—I work a minimum of sixty hours a week. The mortgage on the house isn’t even paid off yet. And your company is booming, you’re so busy—I don’t presume you’re going to quit your job to raise the child?”

“A woman can have _both_ an occupation and a child—it’s not an either-or choice!” Yeeun retorts furiously, splotches of colour high on her cheeks. “To imply otherwise is archaic and frankly sexist!”

“I agree!” Jeno feels a headache blooming in his temples. “I know you’ve put your heart into CLC, which is why I find it surprising that you would want to detract from that by raising a child when your company is gaining immense momentum! I don’t have time for childrearing—I only get 2 weeks of statutory paternity leave while you have 52 weeks of statutory maternity leave.”

“You won’t take any leave for your child?” Yeeun snaps. “You’re going to make me raise them alone? You won’t make any sacrifices for me or the family—you’re really just going to prioritise your job forever?”

Jeno curses London’s narrow lanes and Sunday traffic for trapping him in this situation. “We’re speaking of a hypothetical child in a hypothetical situation! You know that I’m extremely busy ever since I’ve been promoted to Senior Associate! I have to prove myself to the firm first!”

“Prove yourself to the firm,” Yeeun repeats, voice high. “Jeno, you’ve been working at SM LLP for a decade! They know you’re good enough, that’s why they promoted you! Why can’t you think about _me_ for once?”

Unbridled, Elkie’s words about how he never cared about Yeeun come to his mind, and it makes him so angry, because he’s made so many sacrifices for her, and the words explode from him. “I _am_ thinking about you!”

Yeeun shrinks back into her seat, her hands clenched tight around her handbag in between them like it’s a physical barrier, and all at once the anger seeps out of him.

 _God, I’m a wretched excuse of a man_ , Jeno thinks miserably. As if he’s not already a rubbish husband who cheats on his wife, now he’s a bully who intimidates her too… just another on the list of sins he’s committed.

Jeno pulls over, just two roads down from their house. It’s futile to think that he could get away from this conversation. He runs a hand through his hair, trying for composure. He takes a deep breath, and then turns to speak to Yeeun in a calmer voice. “Do you really want to have a child, Yeeun?”

“Forget about me. Forget about our parents, friends, church and society. Forget about it all. At the end of the day, you’re the one who’s going to give birth, your autonomy and body changed. So you should do it for the right reasons. Do you genuinely want to have a child or are you doing it because you feel pressured to?”

There’s a long silence where Yeeun just stares at him like she’s never seen him before. Then, her lower lip wobbles, and she bursts into tears.

“You’ve never asked me that before,” she says, covering her face with her hands, her voice muffled. “About what I wanted. You’ve- you’ve changed, Jeno.”

Jeno plucks a few tissues from the box in lieu of answering her, because truth be told, he knows he’s changed. Half a year ago, Jeno would have never daydreamed about kissing, let alone to someone that wasn’t his wife.

“You’ve never been particularly enthused by the idea of children.” Jeno carefully picks his words, dancing in a landmine. “I’m sorry for my churlish behaviour, but I should be consulted before you try to get pregnant.”

Yeeun picks at her tissue, peeling it until all that remains is bits of white fluff. She murmurs something so faint that Jeno can’t pick up.

“Sorry?” He leans closer to hear, even though his instincts scream at him to back away. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I’m pregnant.”

The pin drops, an unseen pressure that has the world holding its breath, and then it erupts.

“ _What?_ ”

Jeno stares at her, immobile. He can’t have heard that right. He feels like he’s been bludgeoned with a hammer, his hearing ringing and his vision going white.

Yeeun looks at him, biting her lip, apprehensive. Jeno’s eyes roam her face, searching for any sign of deceit or humour. He never took her as a good actress, but it’s becoming apparent that he doesn’t really know his wife. “The test came back positive. And the signs are the same.”

Jeno leans against the leather seat heavily, his limbs weak, trying to wrap his brain around this information. How could this have happened? When was the last time they had sex?

“How long?” he asks, at last.

“Six weeks,” she admits quietly, wringing her hands. “I missed my period and then I went to do a test. The obstetrician confirmed it with an ultrasound.”

“Six weeks?” Jeno repeats, aghast. “And you went to do an ultrasound?” She must have known for _weeks_ if she got an appointment done. He scrubs his face with the back of his palm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears spill over Yeeun’s cheeks. Unbidden, Jeno knows exactly why she didn’t, and he wishes that he could claw the question back. When she speaks, her voice is choked up. “I wanted to wait until the first trimester passed. I didn’t want to- I wanted to wait because…”

Because the last time they’d announced she was pregnant, it became a lie in a month.

Yeeun starts to sob in earnest and Jeno’s heart sinks even further, caught up in past memories he craves to bury in the depths of the ocean. He closes his eyes, feeling tears prickle too, wondering if this is God’s punishment for him. There can be no crueller irony than this.

If a foetus has no legal rights until it is born alive—if it is deemed part of the mother in the womb—then how can something that never legally existed ever die?

It’s the only thought that lets Jeno move on, if he limits it to an abstract concept and not a real person. There wasn’t even a body to bury, washed away like he had never existed. Yeeun’s body had completely recovered, her beauty unmarred and untouched by tragedy.

Sometimes, Jeno could even forget it ever happened, but he would be in his office, searching for a book on the lowest shelf of the bookcase, and he’d see a spineless book amongst all the perfectly arranged titles.

Then, the memories would swim to the forefront of his mind and he’d yank out _How to Be a Dad_ , remembering how he had gone to Waterstones during his lunch break and how the manager—a father of three, from the photo in his wallet—had congratulated him and recommended this book. Had Jeno’s shoulders recovered from the weight of the responsibility of taking care of a vulnerable human being entirely reliant on him?

As he flipped past dogeared pages with margins crammed full of his handwriting, he’d find the key for the cabinet that held the baby journal. Then, he’d remember it was real. That it actually happened. And he’d pour over it with too much bitter whisky, rediscovering the excitement and nerves of those ill-fated sixty-six days, staring at the blurry ultrasound—the only photograph they’d got of his baby. Their baby. _Their son_.

Jeno wasn’t even with her when it happened. He was at work, in the midst of closing a huge deal, his phone turned off. The receptionist had approached him late in the evening when they were having drinks, telling him that his mother called. How quick celebratory drinks turned into commiseration drinks.

“Why?” He asks weakly. “Why ask me about my opinion on children if it doesn’t make any difference?”

“Because I want you to _want_ it!” Yeeun wipes at her eyes again, taking a deep breath. “Last time was an accident. And when I…” she clasps onto the cross that adorns her neck. “You said that we would have more children, but you- you never mentioned it again, like you were _relieved_.”

This is the face of all his worst failings.

“I was _not_ relieved that you miscarried. I _loved_ him, I _mourned_ him, he was my son.”

The shame chokes him, like all his organs are cloaked in an insidious substance, debilitating him and rendering him powerless, prying his eyes open and forcing him to see how inadequate he is.

“Why didn’t you ever talk about him?”

How does Jeno begin to even explain that he _couldn’t_ , that the overpowering grief and trauma and frustration had robbed him of words? How he was ashamed that he felt this peculiar embarrassment that weeks prior, they were celebrating a failing collection of cells? Or how he was just collateral damage in his wife’s miscarriage?

“This was your pain and I couldn’t selfishly add to your distress. I had to be strong for you, and I could only pretend to do that by avoiding the topic.”

Yeeun’s countenance softens and she places a hand over his clenched fist, but he can’t relax, his control over his emotions at fraying point. “Jeno, I’m pregnant now,” she says softly. “This is our chance to heal, to bridge divides. If you wanted a child then, why don’t you want one now?”

That’s the golden question, isn’t it? And Jeno is boxed into a corner, trapped in a car with nowhere to go, fast out of non-answers to give her without contradicting himself.

The silence is deafening.

The diamond of Yeeun’s engagement ring winks in the afternoon light as she retracts her hand. When she smiles, she looks pained.

“It’s because of you lover, right?”

Jeno goes cold, feeling the blood leech from his face. He turns to her frantically, “Yeeun, I—”

She holds up a hand and he snaps his mouth shut. Her eyes are dry, and Jeno knows instinctively whatever she says doesn’t bode well for him.

“It’s fine, Jeno. It’s fine. I’m…” she swallows, her face going smooth as a statue, the emotion in her eyes wiped clean. “As long as you’re discreet, I’m okay with it.”

Jeno gapes, certain that the sleep deprivation has him hallucinating.

“Don’t make it obvious,” Yeeun continues, her voice even and robotic, like she’s reciting lines. “Don’t flaunt your lover in front of everyone else. Don’t humiliate me in front of all and sundry. Don’t father a child out of wedlock. Do that, and you can love whoever.”

Out of all the reactions Jeno had anticipated to Yeeun knowing about his infidelity, this never crossed his mind.

“What… why?”

“Why? _Why_?” Yeeun repeats, staring at him in disbelief, like he’s not behaving the way she expected him to. Then she sharpens. “Why, you ask! I’ll tell you why—because I’m a woman! A Korean woman in her thirties! If I get divorced now, _everyone_ is going to judge me. My parents, your parents, the neighbours, church, society, the whole circus will judge _me_ for not being attractive, alluring, funny, intelligent or _good enough_ for you.”

“That’s—”

She points a finger at him, steamrolling over him. “People won’t see it as _your_ fault—it’s _mine_ for failing to retain my husband’s interest. On the basis of my sex, I am judged harsher than you will ever be! I’m ugly, I’m old, I’m boring, I’m not sexy, … it’s always _me_! There’s an infinite number of ways I should have been better.”

“That’s not true!” Jeno protests insistently, because it’s not. “You are good enough, you’re perfect, it’s me—”

“If you say _it’s not you, it’s me_ , I will literally slap you,” Yeeun says through gritted teeth, her manicured hands clenched into fists. “I’m not perfect! I’m not, I’m genuinely not. But I _try_.” She takes a shuddering breath, like she’s trying to contain herself. “I try so fucking hard to be perfect. I kill myself to be the perfect wife for you. I try so damn hard to make it seem easy, and you never notice that it doesn’t come naturally.”

Jeno stares, flabbergasted. Everything that Yeeun did was effortless. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know what being a woman entails, do you?” Yeeun deadpans before she smiles mirthlessly. “This Christmas, I slaved at the kitchen three times while you put your feet up with a book and a box of Quality Street chocolates. I did it at home as the hostess, at my parents’ house as a filial daughter, and at yours because a good daughter-in-law actively helps out instead of waiting to be served. I spent months thoughtfully planning gifts down to people like your friends and colleagues. I decorated the house and hosted fundraising parties for charity. I volunteered with the church group for homeless shelters and soup kitchens, all the while working.”

“And it’s not just for the holidays like Christmas, Seollal, and Chuseok,” Yeeun presses on, an uncontrollable torrent bursting from the dam. “Your father has Parkinson’s and your mum has arthritis, so I go visit them weekly, bringing over food and providing them with company because Lord knows you’re too busy. I give and give and give, and you never seem to notice how much it takes out of me.”

“I’m sorry that you had to do it alone.” Jeno tries to appease her. “If you asked, then—”

This seems to infuriate Yeeun even more, angry tears prickling in her eyes. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? _If I just ask_! Why do I need to ask _you_ to clean the kitchen, scrub the toilet, hoover the living room in a house we share? Why do I need to ask _you_ to visit your parents? Why does the burden fall to me? For you to ask me to ask you, like _you’re_ helping me out—why, how kind of you, sir! How benevolent of you to take on a duty that’s inherent to me! An unpaid, unspoken, _unthanked_ duty for me to take on the domestic and emotional labour!”

“As a woman, I must do this. Whereas _you_ , a man, can do the bare minimum and get a pat on the back as a good husband. Do you know how unfair that is? I go above and beyond and never get _any_ thanks because that’s what good wives are _expected_ to do. A good wife works a day job and moonlights as a maid. A good wife takes care of everyone. A good wife doesn’t nag. A good wife isn’t idle. A good wife must constantly prove herself. And whilst doing all that, a good wife must above all be beautiful.”

“I’m sorry you—”

Yeeun pushes on relentlessly, “You’re not the only one who’s made sacrifices. You’re not the only one who’s suppressed themselves in this damn marriage. You’re not a martyr, for God’s sake. You want to have your lover, fine. As long as you’re discreet, I don’t care, but you _can’t_ leave me when I’m pregnant.”

Jeno looks at the woman next to him and is unable to reconcile her with his wife of five years. How can she bear to stand by him when Jeno has dishonoured and debased her by forsaking his vows? Divorce is nothing scandalous, affecting half of British marriages, so what does she fear from it?

“No matter the status of our relationship, I will support you throughout this pregnancy. You know I don’t shirk my responsibilities. But knowing my indiscretion and inadequacy, how can you still want to be with me?”

When Yeeun laughs, Jeno flinches, because the sound is marinated in bitterness. Five years’ worth of it.

“ _Han_.” She says succinctly, like it’s that simple.

And all the fight escapes him, because it is that simple.

Han, the ability to silently endure hardship and suffering, is embedded deep in Korean DNA. To swallow down resentment for your family, to choke down suffering for your community, to accept a thousand hurts and hatred, to yearn for vengeance and yet not seek it, to withstand life’s greatest challenges and to go on.

“We’re Korean, first generation born and raised in a predominantly white country, living amongst a class of wealthy white people. We’re here,” Yeeun gestures outside the window to the rows of immaculate houses with German sports cars parked next to manicured lawns, “because we have proven to be the model minority, perfect and put together and worthy of respect. We cannot show them any flaws, because a single dent will be a chasm that undoes us. Then all that we suffered will be for naught, and _that_ is the greatest tragedy of all.”

“Aren’t you tired of pretending?” Jeno pleads, turning to her. Yeeun is just an arm’s length away, and yet she feels so far out of reach. “Aren’t you tired of putting on a mask? We are not the sum total of our reputations.”

“It takes sixty-six days for a new habit to become instinctual. We’ve been doing this for years—it’s no longer a mask, it is us.” Yeeun’s conviction is unshakeable. “Our reputations are the truest part of ourselves. Why must only the worst, base parts of ourselves be our foundation rather than what we strive to become? What could be a more accurate representation of ourselves than the people we choose to become? None of this is a lie.”

“I swore a vow in front of God to be faithful to you—I’ve lied. How do you forgive me for that?”

Yeeun’s blonde hair falls into her face, her right hand twisting the bands of her engagement and wedding ring.

“You’re not the only one.”

 _What?_ Jeno has to have heard that wrong, or misinterpreted it, there’s no way… he can’t even think about it. Yeeun with— “You… you have a…”

“If you’re thinking that I’m going to pass off the child from my lover as yours, don’t.” Yeeun tilts her head up high, meeting his eyes challengingly. “I have more honour and respect for you than that. Besides, if my word isn’t good enough, then I should inform you that it’s biologically impossible. I can only get pregnant by you.”

“No, I didn’t think that, just—” he doesn’t dare examine that emotion, clamping down on it before it can infect his mind. “If you have someone you love, why are you holding onto a sinking ship?”

Coldly, like a judge presiding over court, she says, “You’re a man. You’ll never understand the stigma a woman faces. If people find out you’re cheating, they’ll shrug it off as a man’s nature. They’ll try to find fault in me to justify your infidelity. If they find out that I was with someone else, then I’m a promiscuous slut who’ll be reviled across town and you’re the poor long-suffering husband.”

Suddenly, she seems to lose strength, slumping against the window. “But what do you do when your marriage is cold? When your husband doesn’t care for you?” She looks beseechingly at him. “When it started, I was lonely and undesired, I wanted companionship, I wanted someone to care for me—to look at me and _see_ that I was here.” The hollow expression on her face haunts him, because he’s seen it mirrored on his. “I was smug at first to get revenge right under your nose. But time passed and you didn’t notice. Not the expenses on our joint account, not my trips, nothing.” She finishes, voice small, “Because you didn’t care enough for me to notice.”

Jeno should feel gratified that they’re even, on the same moral playing field with their extramarital affairs. He should be grateful that someone provided love to Yeeun when he was unable to. He should be glad that she cheated so he can use her adultery against her in the divorce. But all he feels is wretched.

“I can accept that you have a lover. I can accept that you don’t love me anymore. But Jeno, if you’ve ever loved me, if you care about me, if I’ve ever been good to you, don’t end this.” She pleads, her hands clasped like she’s praying. “Stay with me and I won’t ask anymore of you. I’ll raise our child at home, I’ll be the perfect wife. You can still be with your lover—I’ll look away, I won’t complain. Just like you’ll do the same to me.”

The thought of Yeeun with a lover should not make him feel like this. It shouldn’t feel like salt in his wounds, because he knows that she deserves love and affection and someone who can provide her with that. And yet, it’s the ultimate sign of his failure, because Yeeun deliberately sought out a lover because Jeno was so lacking.

“Yeeun, let’s not talk about this now.”

She refuses to relent. “If we don’t talk about this now, when will we ever? We’re here because we never talk.”

Jeno buries his face in his hands. It sounds so ideal—the greatest compromise, like Jeno could eat his cake and have it too. But he remembers Jaemin, a bargaining chip between warring spouses, and knows he could never subjugate an innocent to a toxic life because of their parents’ selfishness.

He lifts his head. “How can we maintain separate lovers and yet raise a child? How would that even work in practice? What would our child learn from us? How do you think they would feel?” Jeno asks incredulously. “For that matter, does your lover even accept this—that you have my baby and yet still be with them?”

“Well, no, but—” She exhales sharply, turning defensive. “What can I do? There’s no perfect solution.”

“You were already upset that I don't help out around the house. Can you honestly tell me that you won’t resent me when I’m off with my lover while you’re juggling childcare, work and housework?”

The way Yeeun purses her lips together gives Jeno his answer.

“What kind of family is this? Is this the kind of environment you want our child to grow up in? A life that’s perfect on the surface but a volcano of resentment and anger inside? A child deserves better than this.”

Coolly, she says, “You preach a lot for someone so unenthused about our child.”

Jeno feels the burn of chagrin over his initial reaction, but that was when he thought it was rhetorical.“I want to do the right thing.”

It strikes him then that it’s not a lie. He thinks of his son, gone but unforgotten. He thinks of Yeeun’s misconception. He thinks of how he’s fucked up so many times. He thinks of how he’s tried to take care of his family and yet failed. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Jeno thinks ruefully, but he can't stop trying. Jeno wants—no, he _needs_ to do the right thing. He needs to do this child right.

Yeeun’s eyes shutter as she understands just what he means. She stares outside the window, watching happy families go on their Sunday walks. “It’s all or nothing, isn’t it? You’re not a man to do things halfway.”

How much _Han_ can you take? How much could Atlas carry before the weight of the world crushed his shoulders?

“Well,” Yeeun exhales, returning her gaze back to meet his directly, lips set in a grim line, her back straight, like a soldier about to march into war. “I thought I’d given you everything already. My youth, my name, my body… it seems like I'm not done. There’s still more of me to give.”

Jeno’s limbs feel leaden, like he’s chained up and thrown into the sea. He hadn’t thought the decision would be so easy for her to make. “Just like that?” He croaks. “You’re giving up on your lover just like that?”

“If you give up yours, yes.”

Give up Donghyuck? His heart squeezes, the arteries contracting tightly and Jeno feels out of breath, completely out of his depth. He can’t do this, he can’t make the decision.

“Yeeun, please.” He begs, trying not to show how affected he is. “Go home, take a bath, speak to your lover, just... I think we need space to think clearly.”

She tilts her head, examining him, “Then where will you go?”

“I’ll go to my colleague’s place.” He _needs_ to see Donghyuck. “I won’t ask you to leave our house.”

Something changes in Yeeun’s eyes. The dying star, the final embers fading away. She hesitates a moment, like she’s aware of the momentous shift she's going to cause, but she still says it.

“It’s Donghyuck Lee, isn’t it? He’s your lover?”

Jeno’s heartbeat pounds in his head, a reverberating drum that sounds like a death toll, and his limbs seize up with genuine fear, the world going white.

“What? How- why would you say that?”

It was one thing for Yeeun to know he was unfaithful—he was deserving of her wrath. But he didn’t want to involve Donghyuck, whose reputation preceded him. Blame Jeno, the adulterer, not Donghyuck.

“You couldn’t keep your eyes off him at the office party… the way you look at him, it’s like you would give him the whole world just to see him smile. And when he was in the room, like no one else existed. Not even me. You’ve never once looked at me like that.”

Yeeun looks very sad, but what wounds him most is her resignation, her defeated countenance.

“I’m sorry.”

Has Jeno ever apologised? He doesn’t remember doing so. But he is sorry—sorry that he hurt her, sorry that he ruined their marriage, sorry that she feels no choice but to stay with her lacklustre husband.

“And I’m sorry too. I’m not asking for much, just stay. Don’t you remember?” Her voice becomes thick with emotion as she evokes their vows, “ _To have and to hold, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part_.” She places a hand over her stomach and Jeno feels sucker punched in his. “This is our chance to try again, to heal from the past.”

“Jeno, I choose you. Just… choose me. Choose _us_.”

Even eyes red-rimmed with tears, Yeeun is still breathtakingly beautiful. This is the woman he married, full of dignity and fragile strength.

Yeeun reaches across the console between them and places her hand on his cheek. He feels the softness of her touch, her diamond ring glittering from his peripheral. She caresses the side of his face, her thumb across his cheekbone, and sighs quietly. It’s been a long time since he was so close to her.

She leans in and Jeno closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of her perfume, a sweet floral that’s achingly familiar but doesn’t make his heart speed up anymore. She kisses him chastely on the cheek, just over the edge of his mouth, and he feels something wet land on his face.

When he opens his eyes, she’s back in the passenger seat, wiping her eyes. With a watery smile, Yeeun says, “Drive safe, Jeno. Come home soon.”

It’s overcast. The sun shines on the path that leads to their house, Yeeun’s blonde hair aglow like a halo, every bit an angel in her white coat. Jeno watches as she safely enters the house, a beacon of light breaking through the dense clouds onto the front porch.

Jeno sits in the darkness of the car, shrouded in shadows, and he knows the path he should take. He knows he should follow the light, and yet—

 _Blink_ , and he finds himself in front of Donghyuck’s building, buzzing his flat to gain entry.

Something unclenches inside of him when he sees Donghyuck. It’s like a filter washes over his mind, a wall erected to fence off the world’s unpleasantness, and he has to bite his lip to stop the whimper from escaping his mouth when Donghyuck draws back from their greeting kiss, just wanting to surround himself with Donghyuck.

“Hi,” Donghyuck smiles sheepishly, shutting the door after he enters. “Sorry about the state of things. I wasn’t expecting guests and, well, no one ever comes to visit.”

Until he had pointed it out, Jeno wasn’t even looking at the interior, too preoccupied with mapping every inch of Donghyuck’s face, just relieved to see him and know that he is well. Jeno finally glances over the flat, taking in the very basic furniture, the only non-essential item being the keyboard across from the double bed.

“It’s very minimalistic.” Jeno remarks politely.

“That’s a nice way to put it.” Donghyuck snorts. “It’s empty because I’m too cheap to get furniture for a place that I just sleep in. The office is more my home than this place is.”

“Same,” Jeno says, thinking how he spent more than three-fourths of the year at work than at the house that was supposed to be home. His house might be pretty, but at the end of the day, it was just a place for him to sleep.

“Oh sorry, let me turn on the heat!” Donghyuck exclaims. “I usually just wear more clothes than pay for gas since it’s just me.” He gestures to his outfit—a thick hoodie and fleece pyjama bottoms. “Ah, let me make you a cuppa. Sorry, can you tell I’m really bad at hosting? You’re actually my first guest over!”

While Donghyuck bustles about, Jeno takes a closer look around. The flat is… barren. For someone so larger than life, it’s not what Jeno would expect Donghyuck’s flat to be like. There aren’t things like a Christmas tree or fairy lights or any colour. In fact, the only decorations are the pictures by Donghyuck’s desk.

The first is the same picture as Donghyuck’s lock screen, a family photo with his parents and siblings that’s at least fifteen years old. The second and the third are university graduation pictures, one of a girl and the other of twin boys, dated from the last two years. They must be Donghyuck’s siblings, but he’s nowhere to be found even though his parents are there. And the last…

“You have a picture of me.”

The sound of water stops and Donghyuck walks back over to Jeno, their arms brushing. Donghyuck lifts the frame carefully, his eyes soft as he traces their smiles. “We don’t have many pictures together and I wanted to remember that day at Hampstead Heath because…” he swallows. “Well, you know how I feel about you.”

All the emotions that Jeno has been suppressing bursts right out of him. He surges forward, gripping Donghyuck by the front of his jumper and kisses him desperately.

It’s nothing like kissing Yeeun, which tastes like a mix of obligation and history. The overarching feeling that he _should_ be enjoying this, that he is permitted to touch her because she is his wife, and yet ridden with anxiety that he isn’t pleasing her, that she doesn’t want this. Ironically, kissing Donghyuck is freedom, an injection of life straight into his veins, rousing every cell inside of him and making him feel good.

Lips still joined together, he pushes Donghyuck in the general direction of the bed, his back hitting the mattress and the bed frame squeaking beneath them. The sheets are cheap and scratchy but they smell like Donghyuck, his scent saturated into every thread, and Jeno wants him so bad. He slips his hands under Donghyuck’s clothes, feeling the heat of his skin, his body thrumming and alive, and Donghyuck’s breath hitches.

“Jen,” Donghyuck murmurs, his voice breaking when Jeno pushes his jumper up to access more of his skin.

Jeno stares at him—the planes of his flat chest, the sinew of his muscles, the smooth taut skin dotted with moles and the smattering of hair along his happy trail—like he could commit this sight to memory.

Donghyuck moves to pull off his layers, flinging it carelessly aside, and Jeno sees goosebumps blossom over his skin. He never did get to dialling up the boiler, so it’s up to Jeno to warm him up in an alternative way.

Jeno hovers over Donghyuck, kissing him and then moving down his jaw, sucking along the pulse of his neck, making Donghyuck keen, and then going down his chest. He nips at Donghyuck’s nipples, watching them pebble, and Donghyuck threads his hands through Jeno’s hair. Jeno kisses every mole and birthmark on Donghyuck’s skin, lavishing a constellation of marks across his skin. He moves his lips to the left of Donghyuck’s chest, taking the time to kiss the skin over his beating heart, over and over until the skin reddens, so there is actual physical proof that Jeno was here.

 _That Jeno once had Donghyuck’s heart_.

“Jeno.” Donghyuck wraps his arms around Jeno’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss, and he goes willingly.

How could he resist? Jeno is utterly incapable of saying no to Donghyuck. He could ask Jeno to give him his heart and Jeno would carve open his chest with a knife, pry open the bony white ribcage and pull his beating, pulsating heart out and present it to Donghyuck on a silver platter.

It’s only right that Jeno’s heart should be in the possession of the one it beats for.

Every kiss that Donghyuck presses onto him, every lick of his tongue, every touch of his hands makes Jeno crave more, his hips rolling against Donghyuck’s for friction.

It’s not enough, it’s _never_ enough. Jeno has Donghyuck under him right now, but he still wants more.

“Hyuck,” he pants, staring into Donghyuck’s eyes, the warm brown that sparkles more than all the stars in the universe combined. “Please. I want you. Please.”

“God yes,” Donghyuck groans, flipping their positions so Jeno is on his back. “Take it off, take it off.”

Donghyuck gets off him to retrieve the lube, and Jeno removes his clothes, kicking off his trousers and underpants. Jeno’s hands are shaking so badly that he fumbles with the buttons on his shirt. When he looks down to focus on undoing them one by one, the sight of his gold ring feels like a splash of sobriety.

_God. Why is he lying naked on someone else’s bed when his wife is pregnant with his child at home?_

But Donghyuck returns, tucking some of Jeno’s hair off his face before leaning down to kiss him, and Jeno forgets. His skin breaks out into goosebumps at Donghyuck’s touch, an embarrassingly desperate noise escaping his mouth. Jeno paws at him, wanting him all the more. He curls his hands at the back of Donghyuck’s neck, interlocking his fingers together, and he feels the intrusion of cold, hard metal. Without even thinking— without stopping to kiss Donghyuck—he slips his wedding band off and places it on the bedside table.

“Hyuck,” Jeno begs, ruined before Donghyuck has even touched him properly. “ _Please_. Please fuck me.”

“Jeno, pet,” Donghyuck gasps, taken aback by his enthusiasm.

Jeno feels feverish, sweat beading at his temple, as Donghyuck spreads his legs open. He’s positively sick with desire as Donghyuck stretches him out with his hand. His head _swims_ with the onslaught of sensations, his hips bucking up to meet Donghyuck’s dexterous fingers, squirming for more friction.

“That’s enough- I want, fuck me,” he pleads, his coherency shot in the head.

 _There’s no time, there’s no time_. He hears the clock ticking inside of his head, midnight approaching to wash this wondrous fantasy clean, and he’ll wake up in cold sterility.

“You’re not—” Donghyuck smacks Jeno’s inner thigh, where his leg meets his groin, close to his hard, throbbing cock. “Stay still, pet.”

The shock of the contact makes Jeno throw his head back and _moan_.

Quickly, Jeno recovers a semblance of himself, flushing from the tips of his hair to his toes, but Donghyuck’s grip on his hips becomes bruising, his eyes alight with lust, looking like he wants to devour him. “Fuck. How the hell are you real? I have to—”

“Please,” Jeno begs, gripping Donghyuck’s hand tightly. “Yes, please.”

Donghyuck sucks in a deep breath like he’s restraining himself. “Let me get the condom—”

“No, don’t,” Jeno blurts, grabbing Donghyuck’s other hand to stop him, wrapping his legs around him so that Donghyuck can’t leave him. “I’m clean, I swear, I… I want to feel you—all of you.”

If this is the last time, then Jeno wants all of Donghyuck.

A moment passes between them, a weighted silence charged full of electricity where they stare at each other. Does Donghyuck read the urgency off Jeno’s face? Does he know the cause for Jeno’s desperation? Maybe Donghyuck does, maybe he doesn’t, but he presses a kiss to Jeno’s lips and acquiesces.

Maybe Donghyuck is equally incapable of saying no to Jeno.

It _hurts_ when Donghyuck pushes into him, all the breath in Jeno’s lungs punched out. He’s too tense—his muscles taut, wrung out like a rubber band at snapping point—and he knows it’s not conducive to being fucked, but Jeno welcomes the pain. It only means it’s real, that it actually happened.

Jeno breathes harshly, his chest expanding and contracting quickly with short staccato gasps of air, and Donghyuck runs a hand along his side, thumbing at Jeno’s hip bones to soothe him. He rocks his hips, trying to tell Donghyuck that he wants more, that he wants to be fucked hard and fast, that he wants to be able to feel the ache of Donghyuck in him for days afterwards, like Donghyuck has imprinted a part of him inside of Jeno.

But Donghyuck is too good to him, so considerate even though Jeno is squirming and clenching around him uncontrollably. Donghyuck fists Jeno’s cock, his hand moving up and down in between their bodies, and it’s painfully good. Jeno feels dangerously near the cliff already, so turned on it takes himself by surprise, but he really shouldn’t be. This is Donghyuck—beautiful, clever, witty, talented Donghyuck, who is too skilled by far for the number of times that they’ve done this, like he was made to make Jeno fall apart.

Everything Donghyuck does feels better than Jeno could ever dream of achieving. It has to be Donghyuck’s effect, the way only he can make Jeno insatiable but utterly dormant with disinterest otherwise. But ironically enough, it’s never been about lust with Donghyuck. Even if they had never become physically intimate, Jeno would still love Donghyuck with all his heart.

“Do you love me?” The question rips past Jeno’s lips without thought.

Donghyuck doesn’t question him, doesn’t say that Jeno’s asking stupid questions, doesn’t roll his eyes and tell him to get on with it. Donghyuck doesn’t do anything of that—what he does instead is to interlace their hands, palms kissing and heart lines joining together. He continues to fuck him through his paces, his strokes long and smooth, and answers without hesitation.

“God save me, but I do. I love you so much, Jeno Lee.”

 _How can you love me when it hurts you?_ He wants to ask. _Why do you love me when I can’t give you anything?_

“I love you more than I can express with words. I love you so much that it should be impossible to feel so deeply about a person. You consume me, you are in all my thoughts—at all times of the day, whatever I do, however I feel, you’re there.” Donghyuck holds his gaze, his eyes burning with intensity. “You are _always_ at the forefront of my mind, you live in my heart. And I love you. I love you. _I love you_.”

The ache in Jeno’s chest expands, like his heart is inflating, edging onto the unyielding cage of his ribs. _Love is pain_ , he once said to Donghyuck. One can only taste the glory of love if it is tempered by the agony of pain. If so, then he must truly love Donghyuck, because this _anguish_ inside his chest is so all-consuming that he feels it will overtake him.

“I love you too,” Jeno gasps, squeezing Donghyuck’s hands, two bodies joining into one, the closest and most intimate they could ever be. “I love you so, so much. I’ve never loved anyone as much as you. It’s you, it’s you, it’ll always be you.”

Jeno doesn’t even know what he’s saying, the words escaping his mouth without his brain’s careful filter, like his heart has taken over the executive function. But it’s nothing new, is it? Jeno’s foolish heart has always been the one to rule in his encounters with Donghyuck when his brain gatekeeps all decisions with everyone else. Donghyuck has _always_ been Jeno’s exception, the greatest indulgence he partakes in for absolutely no benefit but his private, selfish desire. Jeno’s brain has taken him to the highest peaks of his career, and Jeno’s heart has knocked everything down like Jenga blocks.

 _This is the price we pay for love_ , he thinks, sobbing as Donghyuck hits his prostate with every thrust of his hips.

“Please, please, please,” Jeno begs, his voice breaking in the middle, the agony compounding the ecstasy, the madness intermingling with the brilliance. “It’s so good. Hyuck, please.”

“Oh fuck,” Donghyuck moans as Jeno clenches around him, his voice utterly blown, sweat dripping down his body. “God, you’re so good to me, pet.”

Love, lust, agony, guilt and fear meld into an unholy concoction that inundates Jeno’s system, razing all thoughts but Donghyuck. He doesn’t understand—how does a body withstand the weight of so much emotion?

“I’m yours, yours, yours,” Jeno says in a fit of insanity driven by love.

“Mine,” Donghyuck repeats. He only seems to register Jeno’s words a second later, because his eyes flash, and he hikes Jeno’s legs tighter around his waist, his voice dripping in possessiveness. “You’re _mine_.”

Jeno scrabbles forward to kiss Donghyuck, just needing the warm weight of his body on him, breathing in his pants and muffled groans. Jeno feels unhinged, his body utterly overwhelmed with emotion, his nerves so alight with sensation it edged onto physically painful, and it just keeps growing and growing inside of him with no end. The euphoria practically eclipses him—Jeno feels like he’s flying to the sun, getting closer to heaven.

“I’m so close.” Jeno sobs, his body writhing as Donghyuck fucks, wrapping a hand around his cock.

He feels like he’s not in control of his body anymore, the heart leading a revolution and commanding all his nerve endings to override his brain, and all he can do is repeat Donghyuck’s name over and over like it’s a prayer that will save him from eternal damnation.

“Me too,” Donghyuck says, his voice wrecked, hoarse with exertion. “Come for me, pet. I love you.”

Every snap of Donghyuck’s hips, every pump of his hand, each and everything about Donghyuck, the way he moans Jeno’s name, the way _I love you_ spills out of his lips like it’s his saving grace—it pushes Jeno to soar higher, go faster and brighter, his wings challenging the sun to reach heaven.

And then finally, _finally_ , Jeno reaches the very top, at the gates of heaven with a breathless “ _I love you_ ”, he plunges to the eternal pits of hell.

_Icarus’ wings were made of wax, after all._

“She’s pregnant.”

It’s the dropping of an atomic bomb after the euphoria of an orgasm, but it’s the only time he can say it. Jeno is the penitent at the confessional, a coward confessing his sins under a blanket of darkness.

“What did you say?” Donghyuck’s voice floats in the air, even.

Jeno’s body still thrums with leftover pleasure, the sweat on his skin barely dry, still faintly tacky against the fresh pair of borrowed pants, his chest heaving to recover its oxygen debt.

The words come tumbling out of his mouth, “She’s pregnant and she knows about us.”

Neither of them need further elucidation on the definition of _her_.

“And she wants me to choose her.”

Donghyuck waits, as if expecting further information—clever, always so clever—for someone so extroverted, Donghyuck has no issue with throwing a blanket silence if it makes his opponent fumble and stutter to fill the quiet, giving him more than what they expected to share. It’s an excellent tactic.

“I… I didn’t say anything.” Jeno licks his lips, starting to become nervous. “I didn’t know what to say.”

The silence stretches for a long time, until it breaks like the clanging of a disjointed note when Donghyuck rolls onto his side, his back to Jeno.

The double bed is hardly big, but the space between them feels wider than the Pacific Ocean. Jeno’s stomach sinks deeper than the Mariana trenches, further than the treacherous cracks of Challenger Deep. He skirts a hand over the duvet, his conscience warring over whether to touch Donghyuck—if he even has the right to do so anymore when Donghyuck has turned away.

But then Jeno hears a hiccupping sound, something like a sniffle, and his heart breaks. He swears he can physically feel the arteries along his heart contract and clench, squeezing and causing his chest to seize up in pain. Jeno can’t stop himself then, wrapping an arm around Donghyuck and hugging him from the back.

For someone whose entire livelihood depends on communication, Jeno has always struggled with finding the right words to say, and it’s no exception now as he flounders to express what he feels.

But Donghyuck beats him to the punch, his body curling into a comma in the foetal position. “I’m sorry.”

Jeno hugs him tightly, the pain in his chest exacerbating. He never wanted this to happen. He never wanted to hear Donghyuck apologise for Jeno’s faults.

“Don’t be sorry. Why are you sorry?” Jeno asks hoarsely. “Hyuck, it’s not your fault. It’s not like you set out to seduce me. It’s my fault for doing this—I’m the one who cheated, I’m the only one to blame.”

“I ruined your marriage,” Donghyuck cries, his voice muffled from how he had buried his face into the pillow. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I let things get this far. I’m sorry that you’re in this position right now.”

“I’m in this position because I chose to take it,” Jeno murmurs, trying to stay strong for Donghyuck. “Meeting you only showed me the cracks in my marriage; you didn’t ruin something that was whole and perfect.”

Donghyuck sobs wordlessly, his back trembling so much that Jeno shakes with him. Jeno feels like he’s splintering, all the pieces that make up him breaking apart as he tries to hold onto Donghyuck.

“Will you look at me?” Jeno asks hesitatingly. “Please?”

He hears Donghyuck sniffle thickly, and then says, “God, I must look a frightful mess.”

“I don’t care—it’s never been about your appearance or sex,” Jeno reassures him immediately. “It’s just you. Everything about you. I love you—all parts of you.”

“Damn you,” Donghyuck curses, but his voice is weak, irresolute. “Damn you for making it so hard. Damn you for making it impossible to resent you.”

“Do you?” Jeno has to know, because if Donghyuck does—even a bit—then the choice is clear.

“No, not anymore, if I had ever.” Donghyuck sags in Jeno’s hold, unresisting. “Your love is a slow-acting, agonising poison, but how could I hate someone who genuinely loves me even though I’m a fucking mess? How can I leave when you’re the best thing I’ve ever had—even if I’ve never truly had any of you?”

“You have—”

“No!” Donghyuck twists to face him, bracing a hand against Jeno’s chest. “Don’t you fucking say it! Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Don’t give me hope and then snatch it away—that’s the cruellest thing to do.”

Jeno swallows his words. He can never say anything right. Jeno wanted to say that Donghyuck had his heart, had his happiness, had his hopes and dreams… but what good was that? Pretty platitudes with no worth.

Just as Jeno tries to get his words out, Donghyuck asks, his eyes glassy like cloudy mirrors. “You asked if I resent you, but do _you_?”

The thought confounds Jeno, who is utterly thrown by the question. _Resent Donghyuck_? He stares into Donghyuck’s expectant eyes, who seems positive that Jeno has an affirmative.

“Never.” Jeno vows, vehement. “I never considered it. Ever.”

“Why not?” Donghyuck asks, tortured. “You were on track to the perfect life before I appeared. Beautiful wife, beautiful home, and soon enough, beautiful family. She’s fucking perfect and I’m a Pandora box of problems. She elevates you and I’ll drag your reputation through the mud. I’m worth nothing.”

Everything has a price, even those that seem unquantifiable, like the body. In medical negligence, minor ankle injuries award up to £10,000. Damage to female reproduction system gives up to £143,000. Severe brain damage is capped at £345,000. Cases with the most damages lay in obstetrics, because it isn’t just injury, loss and damage. If negligence causes a baby to be born with defects, it’s a loss of opportunity and future earnings.

Donghyuck is right. He doesn’t fit any of the boxes for the perfect partner. He doesn’t have the right pedigree, a proper upbringing, wealth or connections… he doesn’t contribute anything other than himself. What Jeno gets instead are sanctions at work for breaking workplace relationship policy, vilification from his community for cheating, disappointment from his parents for his dishonour, and everlasting guilt on Jeno’s conscience for leaving Yeeun at her most vulnerable time. Jeno’s own reputation and value will depreciate significantly.

But he gets so much more if he stays with Yeeun—the value of their goodwill, the brand of a family with two successful professional parents tops the list of conventional social currency. They have immense opportunities as a married, heterosexual family as they tap open the exclusive world of upper echelon society.

On paper, Yeeun is the perfect partner. But if she is so perfect, how did Jeno end up in a draughty old flat in Finsbury Park with Donghyuck? She brought everything into the marriage, and yet in the end, it wasn’t enough.

“You’ve made me happier these few months than I have ever been my entire life,” Jeno says hoarsely, his eyes roaming over Donghyuck’s face. “Is that not worth something?”

“That’s not something I can decide.” Donghyuck says solemnly, more than a little bit of sad, all the indignation seeping out of him. “Don’t make me your Helen of Troy. Don’t let me ruin you.”

Donghyuck’s face is flushed and puffy from crying, eyes swollen and his nose red, his hair stuck up in wayward tufts. Is this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Is this the man that has ripped apart a family and destroyed the pillars of everything that Jeno has worked tirelessly all his life?

Distinctly, Jeno remembers dismissing Donghyuck at first glance, thinking him average and unexceptional. Jaemin had said Donghyuck was nothing but trouble, and Jeno hadn’t understood how someone so unassuming could wreck such havoc. God does love irony, because the joke is on Jeno.

It would be easy to apportion blame on Donghyuck if Jeno didn’t hear the vitriol and self-loathing in Donghyuck’s voice, to hear how instinctively he accepted culpability and fault, to see how tormented he was over the breakdown of Jeno’s marriage. _Don’t let me ruin you_ , Donghyuck said, as if he was some sort of hideous monster who brought death and disaster to Jeno’s life and had to be apprehended and culled.

A life where he hadn’t met Donghyuck would certainly be easier, but _better_?

“I have a lot of regrets in my life, but Donghyuck, you are not one.” Jeno declares emphatically. “I’m not sorry for loving you. Every moment with you has made me more alive than any other time I have lived.”

Donghyuck looks at him wonderingly, his eyes flitting over Jeno’s face, as if ascertaining his sincerity. His disbelief stings Jeno, not because he can’t believe Donghyuck doubts him, but the fact that Donghyuck can’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that someone would actually love him.

He seems to come to the conclusion that Jeno means it, because his prickly demeanour softens, the metaphorical walls falling down and granting Jeno entry. Donghyuck caresses Jeno’s face, whispering, “Then you too should know that I have no regrets. These six months are the best I’ve ever had.”

“How is it that it’s only been six months, but I feel like I’ve known you for eternity?” Jeno marvels, leaning his cheek into Donghyuck’s hand, sighing in both adoration and despair. Donghyuck’s physical touch is like a balm to Jeno’s aching soul, a respite from the relentless ordeal of _being better_ , allowing Jeno to just be, to simply exist as he is. “You know more about me than anyone else. You’ve changed my life in its entirety.”

“It’s not about the length of time,” Donghyuck says quietly, his eyes like stars. “Six months is enough time to change someone’s life forever, for better or for worse. If I made you as happy as you made me, then I don’t have any regrets. Not at all. Not for a second. And I’ll stand by this decision for the rest of my life.”

Something about the pure conviction niggles Jeno’s mind. _Six months_ reverberates inside of his head like a percussion ensemble, producing a deafening amount of noise as he tries to correlate his thoughts together to find why that tone of despondency, melancholy and regret is strangely familiar.

“ _Jaemin_ ,” Jeno breathes, stilling.

The cacophony and clamour in his head goes silent, and then his mind sharpens, a dizzying array of evidence lining up neatly like a paginated trial bundle. The timeline matches up, the reason for their acrimonious relationship clear, how they know things about each other that they shouldn’t…

“It’s Jaemin, right?” Jeno asks, the shock leaving him on his back, blinking at the ceiling as he reels from this information. “He’s the one who hurt you all those years ago? The one you loved who hurt you in return?”

Donghyuck looks horrified. He sits up in bed, his body swaying slightly, wrapping his arms around himself like it’s an additional layer of armour. He speaks in short, shallow bursts, almost like he’s hyperventilating, “I… I wanted to tell you, but I—” his back hunches over, unable to speak anymore, as if ashamed.

 _Jaemin teasing Donghyuck, purposefully saying ridiculous things to make him laugh. Jaemin backing Donghyuck against his table of mahogany, kissing him with the view of the Thames over his shoulder. Jaemin pressing Donghyuck into the mattress, swallowing all of his noises._ The last thought sends a spike of _something_ in him, the same disagreeable, swirling concoction that he had when Yeeun disclosed that she had a lover.

“I promise I’m not angry,” Jeno says, still in a state of disbelief. And what right did Jeno have to be angry? He was the one married to a pregnant wife. “I… I’m sorry.”

He sits up to take Donghyuck’s hand, who grips him tightly in return like he didn’t want to let go. “I’m sorry that I asked you to befriend Jaemin after he hurt you.”

Jeno has a clear recollection of how Jaemin was bruised and bloodied after that big fight three years ago. He wonders if Donghyuck was injured—if _Jaemin_ had physically hurt him—and he feels his blood boil at the thought of his best friend hurting his… Donghyuck. All this time, Jeno supported Jaemin—who admitted himself that he had hurt someone he loved—picking him up and helping him through the trials and tribulations of sobriety and therapy, but did Donghyuck have anyone?

Donghyuck, who lives in this cold, empty flat. Donghyuck, who has no family he can turn to. Donghyuck, who struggled so hard and only got his training contract three years ago. Donghyuck, who had to face Jaemin—his supervisor—even after he had been hurt. Donghyuck, who had forever been changed by this experience.

Jeno had once wondered what made Donghyuck the person he is today, and he can’t say the answer brings him any comfort. The thought of Donghyuck, injured and bleeding—perhaps drunk or high himself too—picking himself up off the ground, heartbroken and distressed, stumbling back home in floods of tears, trembling and breaking and having to heal himself—to make himself better— _agonises_ Jeno.

“You couldn’t have known,” Donghyuck responds, strained, and still won’t look at Jeno. “And well, I wasn’t the best person either. It was kind of my fault as well.”

Jeno feels like his chest has been cleaved in two with a rusted knife, infected and jaggedly torn apart. He can’t listen to Donghyuck blame himself for the hurts people inflicted on him, as if he _deserved_ it.

Jeno climbs off to bed and gets on his knees between Donghyuck’s legs, peering up at him to try and hold eye contact. He hears how Donghyuck inhales sharply, his grip on Jeno’s hand becoming tighter.

“Donghyuck,” Jeno whispers, “can I tell you something?”

Donghyuck nods minutely, his red-rimmed eyes wide with apprehension, like he doesn’t know what to expect.

“You’re not unlovable. I don’t know what happened with Jaemin that made you think you deserve less, but it’s not true. I know you’ve been hurt before, so you pretend you’re hard and caustic, but that’s because you care so much you think it might destroy you.” The words come tumbling out of Jeno’s mouth, half-formed ideas born from deep-rooted heartfelt sentiment. “You are so full of love—I know you live in this empty flat because you send all your money back to the family who turned their back on you. Despite what you think of yourself, you are a good person, and you deserve better. You are entirely deserving and worthy of love.”

Donghyuck starts crying again, chest heaving sobs that have him rattling for breath. Jeno tries to soothe him, thumbing at the delicate underside of Donghyuck’s eyes to stop the river of tears trickling down his cheeks, pushing down his own anguish to comfort Donghyuck.

“Jeno Lee, you’re really out for all my tears, aren’t you?” Donghyuck sniffs, whacking him on the arm with his free hand, his voice wobbling. “But if tonight is our last time together, then I want to say this.”

Before Jeno can even fully process the statement— _tonight is our last time together_ —Donghyuck wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve and gets off the bed, so that they’re both kneeling on the floor, facing each other like they’re about to perform a binding ritual. Donghyuck interlaces their hands, his fingers rubbing over Jeno’s knuckles, and then he exhales and fixes Jeno with an intense look.

“Jeno, you’re worthy of love as yourself. You don’t have to mould yourself to someone’s liking just for them to love you. Not everything has to be defined by success, it’s okay to have personal interests for the sake of your own enjoyment, no matter your age. It’s okay to do things and want things for yourself, and it’s never too late to discover what you want. Putting yourself first doesn’t mean you love your loved ones any less. When you love others, never forget to love yourself too. You are good enough the way you are.”

All his life, Jeno has strived to make his loved ones proud—to be worthy of the countless opportunities he’s been given—so he sculpted himself to become David of Michelangelo. Yeeun said it took sixty-six days for a habit to become instinctive, and Jeno has been this perfect man for the past decade—Cadmus, the first king of Thebes, a legendary Greek hero who built himself to the top. But Jeno’s victory is Cadmean, because all his triumphs are won wearing the face of another and stripping himself of the mask removes all his accolades.

Donghyuck, though, sees Jeno far from the benchmark of perfection he presents himself as, but what he actually is. And yet for all his worse imperfections, Donghyuck _still_ loves Jeno, even when Jeno has brought so much despair onto him.

It would hurt less if Donghyuck ripped his chest open and coated his bleeding heart in salt, because he senses this is goodbye.

“Donghyuck…” Jeno whispers, kneeling on the lumpy threadbare carpet in front of the man he loves. He looks pleadingly into Donghyuck’s eyes. “Will you ask me?”

_Ask me to stay, and I will. You know I can’t say no to you._

Tears cluster onto Donghyuck’s lashes, the seawall to the tsunami. When Jeno softly brushes one drop away, two trickle down Donghyuck’s cheek, and the floodgates break.

“I can’t. Jeno, it’s unfair for you to make me ask you to stay. You’re the only one who can make this decision,” Donghyuck weeps, his voice breaking. “If I told you what to do, I’d risk you resenting me in the future if you regret what you did, and I can’t bear the thought of ruining your life and having you hate me.”

Jeno opens his mouth to argue— _in no life could Jeno ever hate Donghyuck, it’s impossible_ —but Donghyuck shakes his head, brushing Jeno’s hair with a featherlight touch so full of disarming kindness it burns him.

“I love you, Jeno Lee, so I want you to make your own choice. I know so many tactics to spin this in my favour, and it’s _killing_ me to be so… _unguarded_ with all my cards on the open, but I learnt from you that love is pain and love is sacrifice. Love is putting the one you love most above your own desires, so I won’t ask you to choose me, all I ask is for you to be happy. You are the master of your fate, you are the captain of your soul.”

Jeno closes his eyes, agonised. He cannot watch Donghyuck paint a shaky smile over his devastation.

“Hyuck,” Jeno sobs, his heart breaking. “Hyuck, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Donghyuck exhales, his eyes wet with tears. “Don’t be sorry. Not for love. If this is all I’m going to have, it’s enough for me, because you are the best thing that ever happened to me. If this is it for us, then it’s okay, because I love you and I just want you to choose for yourself.”

Love or duty. It’s the age-old question that has eluded older, better and wiser men before him. It grieves him to choose one when he has always considered love and duty intertwined, inseparable conjoined twins, two sides of the same coin. They were both continual acts of selflessness, of putting something above one’s own personal sentiment. Love is a better master than duty, but love is external, and love runs out. Duty is intrinsic in oneself, perhaps cold, but as eternal as a shadow.

Selfishly, Jeno wishes that Donghyuck had demanded he chose him, because then he would be relieved of the consequence of the wrong selection. Jeno has been a follower his entire life, an obedient soldier, a deferential worker, fulfilling the orders of his superiors. The luxury of choice is one he is unused to. He’s procrastinated on making a decision for so long. Now he finds himself at a crossroad where the stakes are sky-high.

“You told me to be selfish, you told me to _want_ ,” Jeno’s voice breaks. “Won’t you take your own advice?”

Donghyuck laughs wryly. “I’ve always been a hypocrite of the highest order. Do as I say, not as I do. Besides, I’m taking your advice. You really shouldn’t underestimate the effect you have on me.”

“I think it’s more apt for me to say that to you?” Jeno returns, volleying it back to Donghyuck. “It’s cliché to say, but I’m not the type to cheat on their wife. It’s just that it’s you, and well… here I am.”

“Here you are, sitting on the floor of a shitty flat in a poor part of London,” Donghyuck says self-depreciatingly. “This is actually a step-up from my old flats. I’m afraid I don’t make a very glamorous mistress.”

He knows he cannot dither for much longer, but… for just one more night, Jeno lets himself pretend.

Jeno leans his forehead against Donghyuck’s, breathing him in, “Do you think… if we’d met earlier, when we were young, do you think we would have—”

Donghyuck presses a brief kiss over his lips, stopping him, “It does us no good to ruminate on hypotheticals. We are no more the people we are yesterday, let alone who we were a decade ago.”

Jeno has been a lawyer long enough to parse through words to find the real sentiment. “You don’t think we would have got together.”

An exhale against his lips. Donghyuck’s voice is strained, unable to maintain any levity. “Jeno, at twenty-one, you wouldn’t go clubbing because you were so focused on furthering your career. Even if we did share classes, you would have seen no benefit in getting involved with me.” He takes a deep breath, looking down on his hands, “And well, I was… I was not in a very good place. The worst of my insecurities all in one.”

Objectively, Jeno knows the truth of Donghyuck’s words, but it’s the annihilation of his very fragile hope that somewhere, somehow, they were fated for each other.

“If we couldn’t be together when I wasn’t married, then… is this it? Are we not meant to be?” Jeno bemoans, covering his face in despair, feeling the claw of despondency swallow him up. “Why is it that we only met at this point in our lives?”

“God knows why we met. Maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s kismet, maybe it’s just a coincidence. I think it just shows that people change and that what we want shifts as we get older, but I was meant to meet you at this point in our lives.” Donghyuck gently tugs Jeno’s hands from his face, kissing his left hand reverently. “Sometimes, we meet the right person at the wrong time, and that’s just it.”

“You are the right person for me.” Jeno insists. “You know I don’t put stock into feelings, but I have never felt the way I do for anyone else. I’m no silver tongued wordsmith, but you are it for me, and I’ll never love anyone the way I love you.” He laughs wryly, “Do you know what’s ironic? You sleep in a flat that isn’t your home, and I live in a house that isn’t a home. If home is where the heart is, then I find my home with you.”

Donghyuck’s eyes shine with unshed tears. “Damn it. You make it really hard for me to be a good person, but I love you so much that I’ll let you go if it’s for the best.”

 _Let you go_ … like loving Donghyuck was a trap that Jeno should escape from.

Before Jeno can try to correct Donghyuck, he asks hesitantly, “If you could turn back time to when we first met at your office, knowing that we’d end up here, that she’d still find out, that you’d have to make this choice, would you—”

“Yes,” Jeno answers unwaveringly, “I would have done everything the same. I told you I have no regrets, and I mean it.” A life without knowing Donghyuck was a worse fate than whatever price Jeno had to pay. “Every second I have spent in your presence is worth it. Six months is too short for me, but I think that even a lifetime with you wouldn’t be enough.”

“I didn't used to understand why people want to suffer through the mundanity of immortality, but for you, I want to live forever.” Donghyuck breathes out, taking Jeno’s left hand and kissing it. “In this life, fairy tales with their happily ever afters don’t exist for us. So I’ll pray for my next life, and hope that we have the fortune of being reincarnated together, because maybe in that one, I might call you mine.”

All the words that Jeno can say die on his tongue. Instead, he goes to kiss Donghyuck, tasting the tang of salt and the sweetness of glory, the burning of ash and the bitterness of ruin, and he knows that he truly lived when he experiences all the flavours that life has to offer with Donghyuck. If this was the last time that Jeno could ever kiss Donghyuck’s lips, he too wished to be reincarnated so that he might one day find heaven on earth.

**January**

Something wakes Jeno up.

He lurches up in bed, like an internal switch had been flicked on. There’s a thin sliver of light shining directly in front of him. Jeno stares at it, befuddled. He touches the light, but instead of golden warmth, he feels the scratch of polyester. Jeno slips out of bed soundlessly, hypnotised by the slither of gold, following it like the Wise Men did to the star in the east until he reaches the window.

The cold on his fingertips shocks him out of his stupor. His mind awakens to register that the light came filtered through undrawn curtains from the streetlight directly perpendicular to his Range Rover. Tracing that, he finds a line of streetlights illuminating the path that leads to his house.

This isn’t his room, Jeno comes to a belated conclusion, noting the lack of pitter-patter rainfall from Yeeun’s white noise machine. But when he turns to his left, on the nightstand next to Donghyuck, the clock flashes 06:00 in bold red.

Instinct drives Jeno to dress himself, following the blocking of his usual morning routine, no matter the setting.

A soft sniffling sound draws Jeno’s attention back to the bed. Donghyuck is shivering, the duvet pooled around his waist, having fallen sometime during the night when they were curled up around each other, sharing body heat. Like a moth to a flame, Jeno returns back to Donghyuck, pulling the duvet past his neck, tucking him in securely to ensure that he’s cosy as it’s the only source of warmth now that Jeno’s not here.

Jeno can’t help but gaze at Donghyuck’s face, cherubic and sweet in sleep. His mused curly hair, stark against the white of the pillowcase. The creases of his eyelids and the flutter of his eyelashes, hiding those vivacious brown eyes that brought Jeno to life. The heart shaped lips that Jeno so loved to kiss, the mouthpiece to the brain that Jeno fell in love with.

He smooths the back of his palm against Donghyuck’s round, soft cheek, over the moles that dot his face like constellations. Kissed by the stars. Beloved in all his past lives. A person meant for love and to be loved. Jeno presses his forehead against Donghyuck’s, basking in the simple intimacy of being so close to him.

Donghyuck doesn’t stir.

For that, Jeno is thankful. It feels like premonition that a notepad is conveniently located on the bedside table even though it’s probable that Donghyuck gets flashes of brilliance at inopportune times. Jeno uncaps the Mont Blanc pen he’d gifted him and puts pen to paper.

It’s the coward’s way out, but this is taking all of Jeno’s strength and more. If he spoke to Donghyuck—if Donghyuck had even looked at him—Jeno would crumble into a million pieces. He probably wouldn’t even have gotten the words out of his mouth if he had to watch Donghyuck’s expression.

The capping of the pen feels oddly momentous in the silence. Jeno reads over his complimentary close— _with all my love, your Jeno—_ and watches black ink dry against white paper, staining his words permanently before he can smudge it, cementing the decision he took into a perennial medium.

He permits himself one last indulgence under the façade of normality—Jeno kisses Donghyuck softly on the lips. Then, he rises.

The eleventh hour has passed. Judgement has been made. Appeals are disallowed.

Jeno swipes his last possession off the nightstand, pocketing it in his jacket and squeezing it tight, and then he leaves the flat like he was never here.

It’s still dark when he gets into the car, condensation fogging up all four sides. He just sits inside for a moment, staring forward into the brightness of the distance, the lights twinkling like fireflies. Then he puts his foot down.

Jeno doesn’t look back. He can’t be Orpheus—if he doubts, if he turns back, all is lost.

The roads are deserted in the early hour and the eerie silence of the world amplifies the vociferous noise in his head. Jeno turns on the radio to drown it out, landing on an oldies station playing Fleetwood Mac.

Jeno rakes a hand through his messy hair, exhaling loudly. He knows it’s confirmation bias—his subconscious interpreting information in a way to support his choice—but what are the odds of a song with this exact message playing right at the crux of his decision as he speeds towards his climax? It’s like a sign from God, and who is Jeno to pointedly ignore God’s will?

It’s preposterous. Absolutely ludicrous. Jeno is a well-read, educated man and now he’s reading in signs like an illiterate superstitious villager from the Middle Ages. Next, he’ll deduce meaning with floriography and consulting the Holy Grail that is Cosmopolitan magazine for advice.

It’s just—God, there’s a heavy pressure on his chest, a tightness in his muscles as he binds himself upright, trying not to waver from the choice he’s made. Jeno is caught between a rock and a hard place, and he hates that this is a decision that doesn’t please everyone. He went into corporate M&A because it was transactional, about negotiation and cooperation at its basis, working together to get the best deal possible for both parties. It’s not litigation, where there are winners and losers, where people can try their hardest and still come out bereft, going home with nothing to show for years of work and investment.

Jeno wants to scream. If this was a movie, he would scream. He would get out of the car, crying and cursing the world on his knees, making a giant emotional scene. Thunder and lightning would blaze overhead, pathetic fallacy to reflect his internal state, like the skies were raging for him too. Donghyuck would chase barefoot after him in his haste, begging for Jeno to choose him, and Jeno would run to meet him in the middle, and they would trade emotional monologues in the cold and kiss under the pouring rain. It would be perfect, if this was a movie.

But this isn’t a movie and Jeno isn’t the protagonist. He’s never been the protagonist of his life, just a background actor following a script devised by the powers that be, his character defined in two lines, a mere supporting act. Jeno isn’t a hero in an epic, going through an adventure. He doesn’t even have a journey, each day of his life a repetition of eat, sleep and work. He’s unimportant and uninspiring, nothing distinguishes him from the rest. His wishes and feelings aren’t the be-all and end-all. They don’t really matter, to be honest.

Jeno isn’t God’s chosen one. Nature has no care for the petty trivialities of man. The weather is cold but clear, all indicative of some rare winter sun. If he starts screaming in the street now, Jeno will get cussed out by the neighbours instead of any sympathy, and that’s if social services don’t haul him to the mental asylum.

His heart is pounding so fast that Jeno genuinely becomes afraid that he’s hyperventilating, on the verge of fainting, so he signals to the empty road before he pulls over, his lights flashing, a distress signal in the dark, a lone ship shooting fireworks in the night, warning people to stay away.

He places a hand over his chest where his heart positively throbs, like there’s a void in it, a gaping emptiness that he’s only just realised. How did Jeno go decades like this, hollow and utterly devoid? If he looks down, he can almost see where his heart should be, but now a blank cavity in its place. Jeno had only just found his heart—just discovered what it meant to feel, to live, to be—and then he gladly gave it to Donghyuck.

It wasn’t stolen or taken against his own will—Jeno _chose_ to love Donghyuck, despite his marriage. Jeno wasn’t trapped in a corner, forced under duress to accept this affair. And that’s why Jeno will never be the same man he was before. He can put on the same suit, follow the same routine, go by the trajectory that is expected of him, but Jeno is irreversibly stained by Donghyuck, coloured by the price of loving him.

Jeno closes his eyes, sucking in several deep breaths, holding it for as long as his lungs can bear before he has to release it, a great big exhale that does little to relieve the heavy, agonising pressure in his chest, weighed down by the magnitude of his decision.

God, he’s pathetic, whinging like this is the end of the world. Relationships ended every single day, and people moved on without issue. This might be Jeno’s first breakup, but he isn’t entitled to act like a lovelorn teenager. Anyways, it’s not like he would never speak to Donghyuck again; Jeno would see him tomorrow as they were still working together. Jeno is a consummate professional—he can divorce personal and working relationships. And Yeeun is too good a person to expose what happened to others, not when it would negatively affect her too.

Besides, there’s absolutely no reason for this detestable maudlin self-pity. Does anyone pity a murderer facing the consequence of his actions? No. Jeno has the requisite actus reus and mens rea for adultery, he has the guilty act and the guilty mind, and as a competent adult there is nothing he can raise in his defence at trial.

Jeno covers his face. The full force of his conduct finally dawns on him like the coming of day. He cannot cry. Jeno Lee isn’t allowed to cry piteous crocodile tears.

Strong, steady, trustworthy Jeno Lee… oh how far he’s fallen. All this time, Jeno was so contemptuous of adulterers like Alistair McArthur, but is he any better? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Jeno is in no position to sit on his high horse when he is cut from the same ilk. No matter how pure his love for Donghyuck, if Jeno leaves Yeeun and the baby, he will join the same class as the rest of the cheating bastards.

Hunched over, his head between his knees, Jeno doesn’t make a single sound. Something drips down his face.

Jeno is the sinner. Jeno is the one who hurt the people he loves. Jeno is the one who made this decision. This is Jeno’s sentence, this is Jeno’s penance.

His shoulders shake, his knuckles turning white from where they grasp the leather seats.

The greatest amount of good for the greatest number. It is an honour to bear the cross for the people he loves.

A wretched gasp tears its way from his throat before Jeno clamps his mouth shut, tasting blood and guilt.

Jeno isn’t a little boy playing house. He’s thirty, with a stable job, a wife, a house, a mortgage, ailing parents who increasingly need his support, and now, a child. How can Jeno shirk his responsibilities when so much rests on his shoulders? Jeno has always known the role that he plays, and he willingly took it on. No one forced him to be the filial son, the dutiful husband. But is it duty if it is born out of love? Love for his parents, love for Yeeun, and yes, even love for his unborn child.

Jeno straightens his back. Two tears fall onto the leather of the steering wheel before he wipes it away.

This is the price he pays for love.

He turns on the engine, checks his blind spot, and eases back onto the road.

By the time he pulls up to the well-maintained streets of Hampstead, his eyes are dry and his breathing steady, as if he had just gone on an early morning joyride.

The sky is a gradient of yellow and pale orange and fading blue, the emerging sun chasing away the haze of rolling fog misting at the bottom of the hill, resembling the work of an Impressionist painter.

Happy New Year. A new year is a new beginning. A new chapter in life.

Jeno parks his car in front of his house and gazes at it, trying to frame it in the eyes of a newly engaged, first time buyer couple. You only know the true value of things when you’re about to let them go.

Here lies the accumulation of Jeno’s entire life, the result of him painstakingly climbing the social ladder over the past decade, the crowning achievement of all his blood, sweat and tears.

An Englishman’s house is his castle, and this beautiful Grade II Listed house certainly lives up to it. It’s fit for a king, and everyone knows the most important aspect of a dynasty is the succession.

This is the perfect place for a child to grow up in. There’s ample room in the house, a guest bedroom that could easily be converted into the nursery, and a lovely conservatory and garden for a child to play in. Not only that, but it’s the best environment for a child’s growth. The neighbourhood is very safe and family friendly with outstanding state schools nearby—that is, if they didn’t choose to send their child to a public school. There is plenty of open air and green spaces to frolic in, something not often found in the capitol. It’s a well-to-do area, and their child would mix with the _right_ sort of people, as Jaemin would say.

None of this is new information to him. Although they hadn’t explicitly discussed it when they bought the house, it went unspoken that this was a _family home_.

Jeno takes his car keys out of the ignition. As he pockets them, his fingers brush something hard and cold and round, and he pulls it out to look at it.

It’s his wedding ring. He regards this scrap of metal, the symbol of his wedding vows, of unending love and faithfulness, the ultimate distillation of his marriage in one single possession. It is perhaps ironic that this sacred item, made from warm yellow twenty-four carat gold, is so easily malleable. Yeeun had gotten her ring repaired several times. Jeno chose to wear it less, not having the time to go to the jeweller’s, but even for the few times that he wore the ring, it was slightly bent, tested by time and pressure.

But gold is a good investment, a traditional way to pass on and preserve wealth from one generation to the next. It’s an excellent hedge against inflation, the value growing steadily from the time of purchase. It’s a commodity in a crisis, a shelter from the storm of financial and geopolitical uncertainty. A fragile strength.

Jeno slides the wedding band onto his finger, feeling the ghost of Yeeun’s slight hand— _with this ring I thee wed_ —and the gold gleams radiantly beneath the sun like it had filtered through the stained glass of the church.

He steps out of the car and silently enters his house, blinking rapidly to remove the spots in his eyes, unused to the brightness after skulking in the dark for so long. He runs his fingertips over the hallways, his eyes trailing over framed photographs and mounted artwork until he lands onto the centrepiece in the living room, a large portrait of their wedding day portrait. It’s so big and obviously placed, but he is so accustomed to its presence that it might have been invisible for all that he saw.

Jeno is about to continue upstairs when his eyes catch on something. On the coffee table, next to the tidied chess set, sits a vase of vibrantly yellow sunflowers, bathing in the sunrays.

He approaches it cautiously, lifting his left hand to feel the stem, to brush his fingers against the floret. They’re real, he realises, when one of the petals gets caught in the gap of his wedding ring.

It’s January. Sunflowers should not bloom in winter. And yet, here there are, living defiantly in this cold castle.

There’s a noise and Jeno whirls around.

It’s Yeeun, standing at the top of the stairs.

She blinks, and her look of surprise morphs into one of quiet determination, and she walks down the stairs without another word. She must have just woken up as her blonde hair is unstyled and her face unmade up, but in her long silk robe of white, she looks a vision of purity and divinity.

Jeno’s breath catches in his throat and he swallows, feeling the moment come upon him. He stands stock still, letting her come to him.

As she glides past the threshold of the living room door, Jeno gets a flashback to that day five years ago, when he watched her walk down the aisle.

In a parody of their wedding, Jeno is even obligingly wearing a suit, wrinkled as it may be.

Except… as she traces his face, her eyes hone in on a spot on his neck, and he feels a throbbing tenderness at his throat, a last gift from Donghyuck.

But still, she stands in front of him and meets his eyes courageously, despite the pallor of her face and the purple beneath her eyes which suggested a restless night.

She extends her left hand, reaching out to him.

 _Fragile strength_ , he thinks.

Jeno takes a deep breath, his left-hand circling around the ring and the petal.

Yeeun, or Donghyuck.

Speak now, or forever hold your piece.

He removes one and takes her hand.

“Yeeun, I’ve made up my mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fin.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Please don't be angry at me... this was the ending I had always had in mind since April when I first outlined the entire fic. Please do tell me what you think of it in the comments as I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> This fic is super personal to me and I've truly put a lot of heart into it. Thank you so much to Steph for prompting it in the nohyuck fic fest which enabled me to spawn my darling <3 
> 
> You might find it comic but I initially chose this prompt because I wanted to exercise my PWP writing skills and I estimated that it would take around 20k at most. I should have known it was impossible considering the subject matter. Also, PWP is not my strong suit but plot is lol. Once again, spyblue31 writes a 91k long fic..
> 
> So, did you guess the identities of the various side pairings correctly? I've dropped some hints as I went along but I was super impressed that some of you were so observant and nailed it in the first chapter, which was why I didn't answer comments as I went along haha. 
> 
> Also, I just want to say that Taylor Swift was actually spotted at [The Flask](https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-5788977/Taylor-Swift-Joe-Alwyn-PICTURE-EXCLUSIVE-Singer-enjoys-cosy-pub-lunch-British-beau.html) and [The Spaniards Inn](https://www.elle.com/culture/celebrities/a26265374/taylor-swift-joe-alwyn-hampstead-date/).
> 
> If you get the reference to why Yeeun commented on the flowers in the pub, then I am so impressed and I'll (virtually) send you homemade sticky toffee pudding (it's one of my favourite puddings)
> 
> I'm still vaguely in shock that I actually finished writing this fic. Ever since April, it's been living in my head, growing and accumulating space. I'm stunned that it's done, to be honest. It was my first time posting before I actually finished writing, so there were things that I wish I could have tidied up or added, but as a whole, I'm proud of what I've written. There's a lot that I would have liked to put in, headcanons and cute scenes that were fun but unnecessary (especially since it ended up at 91k lol) - if there's anything you want to know, please feel free to ask in the comments or a DM!
> 
> I have a [Twitter thread](https://twitter.com/spyblue31/status/1345772938323259395?s=20) of places and locations that feature in AR&MR if you'd like to check that out!
> 
> Once again thank you so much for reading. I always appreciate comments and kudos. Finally, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Wishing you all the best xx  
>    
> [My twitter](https://twitter.com/spyblue31)


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